The Knight's Tale
by Reiko x 3
Summary: There are multiple perspectives to every story and the tale that unfolds in Princess Tutu is no exception. We already know Ahiru's but how much to we really know about how the other characters experienced those events. This is a re-telling of events from Fakir's perspective. Depending on the feedback from this one, I might do versions for Mytho and Rue as well. Happy reading!
1. It Begins

**A/N:** I know. I know. I should be working on the next book for KH: Rebirth, but my focus shifted and…well… I REALLY LIKE THIS SERIES! And the Fakir/Ahiru pairing. They're a good match. I know there is another fic kind of like this already on this site. To be honest it inspired me to write my own version of the series from Fakir's perspective. Don't get me wrong. I'm not doing this because I think the other fic is bad or anything. It's on my favorite stories list after all. However…I have my own ideas for how things played out from his side. Also there are some details the show leaves out that I want to fill in. Most notably… HOW THE HELL DOES HE NOT DROWN IN THE UNDERGROUND LAKE AFTER PASSING OUT?! HOW DOES HE GET TO THE SQUARE WHERE EDEL BURNS HERSELF?! These, among others, desperately need to be addressed and, as my imagination does not seem to have an off switch and won't leave me alone about this, I may as well take the time to do so. This fic will be written in third-person perspective. While it is largely from Fakir's perspective, I am also going to be covering the events that occur while he is not conscious to witness them. It is far easier to just do everything in third person rather than switching back and forth between first and third. Because I am just that lazy. Next, I am doing a minor name change to keep with the setting. Namely, I am changing Neko-sensei's name to Mr. Katze. According to Google Translate 'katze' is German for 'cat'. It makes more sense to call him that than Neko-sensei or Mr. Cat when the series is set in Germany. That's the only name change I am doing though. I'm going to be sticking to the names from the original version in every other instance…even if they don't quite fit setting wise. I may change my mind about this later…looking at you Yagiko-sensei… Finally, I don't really know all that many ballet terms in spite of how many ballet performances I've watched over the years (mostly versions of the Nutcracker {mostly the Sendak and Stowell version performed by the Pacific Northwest Ballet company up until 2014}). My descriptions of the actual dancing, therefore, are going to be extremely vague. Fakir's a good dancer. We all know this. Just use your imagination to fill in what I leave out (which is admittedly most of it. Sorry. For all that I am good at descriptive writing I can't describe something if I don't have the right words. The images are _there_ in my head…I just don't know how to translate them into words for you guys to read. This is a frequent problem for me since I think in pictures. Translation errors happen.) Listening to the music pieces I reference will help. So let's get things started! Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I claim no rights to ownership for the characters, setting, or other such things that appear in this work of fanfiction. Particularly since this is a rewrite of the series from a different perspective. Seriously, I own nothing in this and am making no money off of this entire hobby of mine. Consider this free advertisement for your wonderful anime. And…maybe give us a third season? Please? I'd watch it…

Chapter 1: It Begins

A beam of moonlight shone through the parted curtains illuminating the dorm room belonging to two young men. One of the young men slumbered peacefully in a dreamless sleep, but the other…his rest was not so easy. A dark-haired teen tossed and turned restlessly as sweat rolled down his face. He startled awake with a sharp gasp and shakily brought a hand up to run it through his hair. "That dream again," he whispered with a grimace, "Damn it…" He glanced over at the sleeping form of his white-haired room-mate and best friend, and was relieved to note that he was out cold. "Sometimes I really envy you, Mytho," he murmured, "To be able to sleep so peacefully…" He sighed and sat up; the young man knew from experience it would likely be a while before he was able to fall back asleep. Instead, he reflected on the dream…no…the _nightmare_ he'd just had.

It wasn't as though he wasn't used to nightmares. Ever since his parents had been killed in front of him when he was seven his nights had been tortured by his memories of their deaths. Even after those memories were lost to him, the nightmares never stopped. Then he'd met Mytho… 'If I'd known that it would have made my dreams even worse,' the green-eyed teen mused internally, 'Would I have still made that promise?' He scoffed dismissively. Who was he kidding? Of course he would have. Mytho was his best friend, after all, and he would always protect him – even from the white-haired teen's own foolishness – no matter the cost to himself. It was just the kind of person he was.

The dark-haired teen's gaze darkened as it drifted back over to his friend's sleeping form. Of course, Mytho was oblivious to _how_ seriously his best friend took his oath. He was oblivious to everything really. Not that the taller young man could blame him, really. He _did_ shatter his heart to seal away a monster, after all. Not for the first time, he questioned whether it really was for the best that Mytho remain a heartless shell before dismissing his doubts as foolish. It would only cause the white-haired teen suffering in the end. Sure, he wasn't capable of feeling happiness, love, or loyalty. Yet he was also free of sadness, fear, and hatred. He wasn't tortured by doubts and fears in his sleep. He had no fears for what the future might hold. Every day passed in a numb haze free from all cares. He was safe, and in the end that was what mattered.

'Not that being heartless makes him any easier to look after,' the green-eyed teen scowled as he looked out the window, 'I swear _lemmings_ have more of a self-preservation instinct than he does.' He snorted derisively, "And people wonder why I'm always in a bad mood… They have _no_ idea how much stress I deal with every day…" He brought his hand up to absently rub at his right shoulder as his dark expression faded into a haunted one. 'They have no idea of what could happen,' he shuddered, 'If he ever _does_ start getting his heart back. And how could they? It's just a _story_ …' The young man's haunted look deepened. Stories were far more dangerous than most people thought…and he _knew_ it. He continued to dwell on the thoughts that troubled him before he started to yawn. Even though he still wasn't much calmer, his body was demanding sleep. Considering that he had class the next day there was really no point in denying himself the rest he needed. He lay back on his pillow and slowly drifted back into a troubled sleep.

The dark-haired teen awakened the next morning with a low groan. He was honestly still exhausted, but he couldn't exactly leave Mytho to his own devices. Regardless of how badly he just wanted to stay in bed, he had to get up and prepare for class. Malachite-green eyes groggily opened and their gaze drifted over to the neighboring bed…only to find its occupant was no longer there. He swore vehemently as he launched out of bed. Concern and exhaustion soon twisted into anger as he hurried to get dressed. "That idiot," he snarled angrily, "I've told him a thousand times to _tell me_ when he leaves! He never _listens_!"

The young man rushed out the door with a stormy scowl. All the other boys in the dorm to cowered against the walls the very instant they noticed his expression. The sheer volatility of his temper was infamous and they all knew better than to get in his way when he had _that_ look on his face. Fortunately, the list of places Mytho tended to wander off to happened to all be on the Academy's main campus which made the dark-haired teen's life easier…though that still left him with the task of eliminating each spot one-by-one. By the time he glimpsed his friend dancing through the window of the primary lesson room, the young man's temper was very close to its boiling point.

He stormed through the doors of the ballet building, headed straight for the room, and only paused, briefly, outside the door when he heard a girl's voice. Was there someone in there with Mytho? The young man scowled. It didn't matter. He opened the door and stalked through to stand over his wayward friend, "Hey!" "Fakir," the white-haired teen acknowledged from his spot on the floor. Fakir's scowl didn't ease up, "I told you to let me know before you go out, didn't I?" "Yeah," the shorter teen replied softly. "We're going. Stand up," the taller of the two ordered. The golden-eyed teen made as soft noise in reply, but otherwise didn't bother to move.

The green-eyed teen's frown deepened in concern, "What's wrong?" "My foot…," Mytho replied quietly. The dark-haired young man took in his friend's position on the ground again and had to fight back a resigned sigh. He had to clarify just to be sure, "Your foot? Did you twist it?" "Yeah," the injured teen replied. Fakir felt his eye twitch at the admission. The idiot had managed to injure himself again. Typical. "Moron," he accused. The white-haired teen just accepted the label as passively as he always did which honestly made the taller young man feel a bit guilty. It wasn't as though he could help being the way he was considering his condition. He was startled out of his thoughts by a girl's shrill interjection and he glanced over.

Mytho hadn't been alone after all, he noted, and he coolly assessed the girl as she started her rambling explanation of what happened. She was short and skinny with large blue eyes and light red hair. He noted a splash of freckles across her nose which, if he weren't in such a bad mood, he probably would have acknowledged made her look somewhat cute. As it was, he only felt himself growing more annoyed as he listened to her talk. "Um…um… It was all my fault," she cried, "He saved me when I tripped, and…" Fakir cut her off as he turned to his friend once more, "What are you doing, you idiot? Such a pointless thing…" "So like I said, he was protecting me," she tried to continue but the taller teen cut her off once more. "That's why I said it was pointless," he snapped. He reached out and pulled Mytho to his feet by the wrist as he continued, "Come on, we're going back to the dorm." 'So you can rest and _hopefully_ not injure yourself further,' he finished in his head, 'Why do you have to try to save _everything_? There's no point.' He absently noted the girl's reproachful, "You don't have to be so rough with him!" He let out a quiet huff of air before sternly replying, "Shut up!"

Fakir made a brief detour to the instructor, Mr. Katze's, office to let him know about Mytho's injury. "I see," the anthropomorphic feline stroked his chin thoughtfully, "He twisted his foot, you say?" "Yes," the young man replied evenly. "And you're taking him back to the dorm so he can rest it," the teacher clarified. The dark-haired ballet student was irritated by the fact that the cat-man was basically repeating back everything he'd just said, but forced himself to remain polite, "That is the case." "Will you be staying at the dorms with him, then," Mr. Katze inquired. "I shouldn't have to," Fakir replied, "He's not going to go anywhere with an injured foot, and I can check up on him during lunch break." The feline instructor hummed thoughtfully before nodding, "Then I will see you in class later, then. Due to the long walk, I will excuse you for being late. Do inform me when Mytho is recovered." "I will," the dark-haired teen confirmed, "Thank you, sir." The feline waved off his thanks as he returned to his paperwork, and the green-eyed young man left the office before sighing at the sight of his friend's empty stare.

"I've taken care of excusing your absence for today," he informed the white-haired teen as he helped him to his feet, "So you can just rest and focus on getting better." "Okay," Mytho replied softly. Fakir sighed again at his friend's listlessness and wrapped his arm around the shorter teen's waist for added support, "Come on. Let's get you back before you hurt yourself even more." The two young men slowly made their way off campus and back through town. "You know I worry about you, right," the taller of the pair asked his friend quietly as they reached the gates to the dorms. "Yes," the golden-eyed teen replied. "Then stop being so careless," Fakir scolded gently, "I swear you'll cause me to drop dead from stress one of these days." Mytho nodded listlessly, "Okay." The dark-haired young man carefully helped his friend up to their room and got him settled in his bed. "Just stay in bed, and don't try to move around," he ordered firmly, "You need to let your foot rest, so it can heal. If you don't you may not be able to dance again for a long time. Do you understand?" "I understand, Fakir," Mytho replied, "I'll stay put and let my foot rest." Fakir sighed in relief, "Good. I'll be back to check on you later. See you then."

Fakir and Mytho were both in the advanced ballet class at the Goldkrone Fine Arts Academy. While the golden-eyed teen was generally considered to be the best male dancer in class, his best friend was easily just as good. The main difference really came down to _how_ they danced. Mytho, due to his complete inability to feel _anything_ , was purely technical. It was all form and no feeling. Fakir, on the other hand, was good at both technique and emotional expression; it was about the _only_ time he expressed his emotions. One would think that would make the taller young man the better dancer, but his friend had a natural ethereal charm that made up for his lack of emotion. Between his soft golden eyes, fair skin, and feathery white hair he put most people in mind of a swan in human form.

It just drew people in, and when he danced…well, there was a reason he had such a large following among the female students. Fakir also had his own following among the female students, though for different reasons, so it wasn't as though he was entirely overlooked. People just tended to focus on Mytho more, and the malachite-eyed teen was honestly fine with that. It wasn't that he lacked confidence in his abilities, or felt self-conscious about dancing in front of other people. Far from it, in fact. Put quite simply, the dark-haired young man was just the sort of person who didn't feel the need to be praised for something he knew he was good at. He almost resented it when people called attention to his skill. It felt as though people were sucking up to him when they did, and he had no patience for flatterers.

Overall, Fakir rather enjoyed attending the Academy. Initially, he'd only suggested it because it was something to keep Mytho occupied and out of trouble, but he found he really did like practicing ballet. Privately, he acknowledged he didn't _have_ to join the School of Ballet along with Mytho. After all, the Academy had multiple schools all located on one campus. There was also the School of Sculpture, the School of 2-D Design which taught students how to draw and paint, the School of Music, the School of Drama, and the School of Creative Writing which helped students hone their skills at writing prose and poetry.

However, Fakir wasn't a fan of sculpture, he privately thought his attempts at drawing looked as though they were done by a lobotomized – and heavily inebriated – monkey, he hated singing in public even though he acknowledged his singing voice wasn't _terrible_ , he didn't think he was eccentric enough to tolerate the drama students on a regular basis without feeling the need to commit himself to an institution, and as for writing…just the thought of it freaked him out. He didn't entirely remember why, but just thinking about writing _anything_ other than normal schoolwork gave him a feeling of dread. No, he was happy practicing ballet. Besides it was pretty good exercise when you got right down to it. He _needed_ to be fit in order to protect Mytho.

Fakir arrived in class to find the other advanced students gossiping about the demonstration Rue and the rest of the special class had given to one of the lower classes. "It's too bad Mytho's out today," one of the girls, Amelia if he remembered correctly, sighed wistfully, "He and Rue could have performed a pas de deux. That would have really been something for those underclassmen to see…" "I know, right," one of the other girls, wasn't her name Ella or something, replied eagerly, "They really are the best." Fakir glanced over at Rue to see how she was reacting to all the gossip. She was the only other person on campus who knew anything about his friend's situation. Rarely, she'd do what she could to keep Mytho out of trouble. Not often enough to make him like her, but she was at least tolerable – even if he didn't really trust the girl all that much. The raven-haired girl was stretching on the barre and seemed to be ignoring the other student's chatter. 'Good,' the dark-haired teen nodded, 'She's prideful enough as it is. The last thing anyone needs is for her to start _encouraging_ people to praise her.'

The green-eyed young man started doing his own stretches to warm up. Soon enough, the door opened and Mr. Katze entered the practice room. He gave a brief nod to Fakir in acknowledgement of his presence before clapping his hands twice to gain the attention of the rest of the class. "All right, everyone! Pay attention," he called, "A few announcements before we begin…" As the anthropomorphic feline rattled off his list, the dark-haired teen once again considered how odd it was that nobody reacted to the fact that their teacher was a _talking cat_. Then again, nobody really reacted to the anthropomorphic animals around town and on campus. He figured it was probably an effect of the story, stalled as it was. Fakir dismissed his thoughts as the lesson started and turned all his focus to the teacher's directions. Just because the classes followed a regular pattern was no reason to not pay attention after all.

They say time flies when you're having fun, but it also flies when you are focused on a task. Fakir considered this as class broke for lunch and he headed to change out of his practice clothes. The morning sure _seemed_ to pass quickly, and he hadn't really been thinking about much more than the move sets Mr. Katze drilled them on. He took lessons seriously which was probably why he was one of the top dancers in the department. Of course, the fact that he also put in extra practice between classes probably helped as well. The dark-haired young man had a habit of pushing himself harder than his classmates when it came to refining his technique. He quickly changed and made his way back to the dorm.

On the way, the dark-haired young man stopped at a conveniently located café to pick up some lunch for Mytho. The white-haired teen wouldn't think to find food for himself if he didn't. Fakir was so used to looking after his friend in this way that it didn't even annoy him anymore. It was just how things were. Soon enough he reached the dorm, but he hesitated as he noticed the girl from early that morning standing outside the door. She was hitting herself in the head and flailing about quite pathetically. It was embarrassing to watch and he wasn't the sort to derive enjoyment from other people making fools of themselves in public. He walked forward and stopped behind her before stating, "You're in my way." His neutral expression didn't change as she slowly turned to look at him. She started to speak as he walked passed her, "Uh… Um… is Mytho-senpai…"

Of course she was here for Mytho. Most likely she was another of his friend's fangirls. He couldn't stand fangirls. How can they claim to like someone they know absolutely nothing about other than that he's good-looking and is a good dancer? It was ridiculous. Regardless, Fakir wasn't willing to let her bother his room-mate and so opted to lie to her as he responded, "He's not here." "Then, um," she called after him as he opened the door to the dorms, "Where is he?" "Go away," the dark-haired teen dismissed coldly and was about to shut the door when he found she had wedged herself in the gap. He had to admit she was a lot more persistent than most of his friend's admirers. They normally gave in without a fight, though he admitted his reputation might have something to do with that. People were intimidated by him, and he knew it. "Ow," she whimpered before looking up at him pleadingly, "How is his injury?"

His expression didn't change, but the young man felt a part of his cold disregard melt a bit in the face of her genuine concern. He decided to ease her fears a little bit when he finally responded, "It's not serious." "I'd like to apologize to him," the girl insisted. Again, Fakir couldn't help but appreciate her sincerity. Most fangirls would _feign_ concern in order to get close to their object of interest, but this girl… He could tell she actually cared about his friend's well-being. She was a genuinely nice person. His resolve hardened as he came to that realization. Her kindness made it even _more_ important that he keep her _far_ away from Mytho. "There's no need," he told her. He watched as she slowly slid down and fell out of the gap before springing back to her feet. She glared at him as she demanded, "Are you always like this when you talk to people?" He didn't answer and simply shut the door in her face. 'It's for your own good,' he thought as he walked away, 'Mytho's the last person you should be involved with. You'd only end up being hurt.'

Fakir opened to door to his room to find Mytho perched on the window sill staring blankly out at the dorm gardens. He sighed in annoyance before addressing his friend, "Mytho." The emotionless teen turned to look at his room-mate as he walked over, "Fakir." "I told you to stay in bed, didn't I," the dark-haired young man asked reproachfully. "Sorry," the golden-eyed teen replied. The taller teen looked down at his friend in concern, "Does your foot hurt?" Mytho looked down at the bandage Fakir had tied around his ankle earlier before responding, "I don't know."

It was such a typical response, and the malachite-eyed teen knew it shouldn't annoy him as much as it did. Yet he still lashed out without thinking about what he was saying. "What a bothersome person," he criticized harshly, "You're slow and utterly useless. Don't get any silly ideas like trying to help someone." Fakir almost froze as his words reached his ears. 'Did I really just say that to him,' he wondered but didn't allow his expression to deviate from its harsh cast. "Okay," the white-haired teen agreed placidly. "You should just listen and do what I say," the taller young man ordered in a low tone. Mytho's reply was as submissive as it always was, "Yes…"

Fakir sighed harshly and handed over the wrapped sandwiches he'd stashed in his uniform jacket. "Here. You need to eat," he said in a much gentler tone. The emotionless teen accepted the packet and slowly unwrapped it as his friend headed over to his bed. The green-eyed young man sat heavily and flopped back onto his mattress with a tired grunt. He felt more than a little guilty for being so harsh. Yes, he was constantly fretting over the other teen's tendency to risk his safety thanks to his compulsive need to _help_ people. Yes, he sometimes felt annoyed by how helpless Mytho was and how slow he could be on the uptake. But to say such things to his _face_ like that… He didn't normally lash out against his white-haired friend that way.

'What's wrong with me today,' he wondered, 'Is it just because I had a bad night and am still feeling tired?' He hadn't been overly snappish in class, but nobody had tried talking to him either. Still…he definitely felt a lot more agitated than normal. 'Maybe I should extend my practice sessions after class this afternoon,' he mused, 'If I wear myself out enough I won't dream tonight. Then I can actually get a decent night's sleep. Mytho doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of my temper when I'm like this.' Fakir sighed and closed his eyes for a quick nap; he'd grab a snack later on the way back to campus to make up for not eating lunch.

The rest of the day passed with no further incidents. Fakir spent an extra couple of hours on campus after class was over for the day running though his custom practice routines just to make sure he was tired enough to sleep through the night. Mytho barely acknowledged him when he got back that evening beyond turning and saying his name, but that was normal. Not for the first time, the dark-haired young man mused that his friendship with Mytho was probably not the healthiest. The white-haired teen relied on him for practically everything short of dressing and undressing himself…and bathing. Fakir honestly didn't think he could handle bathing his best friend. He had his limits. It was bad enough that the shorter teen was in the habit of hanging around the dorm without wearing pants. He privately swore that if he _ever_ found out who gave his friend that idea he would maim them. Some things were just _not okay_ to teach to emotionless teenagers who didn't know any better. Besides, there were enough rumors about the two of them floating around campus as it was. The green-eyed young man was aloof not deaf. Getting ogg that mental tangent, he resumed reflecting on his original concern: his friendship with the white haired teen. In all honestly, he couldn't deny that their friendship was pretty one-sided. It always had been. Mytho was literally incapable of registering such feelings let alone experiencing them himself. That's what being emotionless meant.

On top of that, Fakir acknowledged that he was extremely possessive and controlling of what his friend did. It wasn't as though he enjoyed it, but Mytho honestly did not have anything resembling a functional sense of self-preservation. Hell, he barely had a sense of self at all. The shorter teen had enough of a concept of self to identify himself as an individual, and recognize others as being separate. Yet that was as far as it went. He didn't really think all that much, and just acted as impulse or habit dictated which was probably why he kept wandering off. The dark-haired young man suspected that most of those incidents were the results of random impulses or the golden-eyed teen getting so set into a routine that he just reacted according to the patterns of said routine. Much like today's incident started out.

It was only after he calmed down later that afternoon that he realized Mytho had left the room at the same time he always did. Fakir had slept in because of the lack of sleep from the night before, and the white-haired teen was so used to his room-mate coming with him that he probably just hadn't noticed anything was different. That was the problem really. Mytho didn't notice when things were out of the ordinary _unless_ someone or something else was at risk. All of which boiled down to the malachite-eyed young man needing to watch his friend like a hawk and stop him from getting himself killed. As for the possessive bit…he privately admitted he was like that with everyone he cared for. Losing his parents when he was only seven had messed him up pretty badly and he was honestly terrified of suffering another loss like that. He clung to Mytho simply because the thought of his friend being hurt or killed scared him to death. Yes, it was selfish of him and he was well aware of that fact.

Fakir let out a quiet sigh as he lay on his bed and thought back about what his friendship with Mytho _used_ to be like. It was still pretty one-sided, but his younger self had cared about as much as he presently did about such things. He honestly missed how things were when he was younger and didn't have as much to worry about. Yes, Mytho still took stupid risks to save helpless creatures, and he had still gotten freaked when his friend risked his safety. However, he also wasn't holding himself responsible for the golden-eyed teen's well-being back then. He had been happy just being able to spend time hanging out with his friend regardless of his careless actions. Fakir couldn't really remember the last time he'd just been happy spending time with Mytho without worrying or being annoyed by something his friend had done…or was doing…or might do. 'When did all of that change,' the dark-haired young man mused sadly as he gazed up at the ceiling of their room, 'When did I lose that innocent outlook? Was it the fire…? Before that…? After…? I don't remember anymore…' He acknowledged that he was unlikely to ever get that lost innocence back, so there was really no point agonizing over it. He knew too much about what was at stake to ever go back to that childish way of seeing the world. Fakir sighed as he closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep. 'Still…,' he confessed to himself, 'I can't help but wish that things had never changed sometimes…'

Fakir's strategy to wear himself out to the point he didn't dream paid off, and he woke up the next morning in a much better mood. Mytho's foot was still injured, so he'd be spending the day in bed again. The dark-haired young man got dressed in his uniform and prepared to head out. He turned to face the reclining form of his best friend and tried to convince himself that there wasn't much trouble he could get into if he just stayed in bed. 'Then again,' he thought pessimistically, 'Saying he _couldn't_ get into trouble is just asking for the universe to find some way to prove me wrong.' "I'm off to class," he finally stated evenly, "On the way back, I'll borrow some books for you from the library. Don't read any books except the ones I bring for you." 'Particularly because those are the only ones I can trust _not_ to give you any crazy ideas,' he continued internally, 'Your being heartless may be for the best, but it still doesn't make my life easy.' "Okay. Thank you," Mytho replied placidly.

"Don't make me worry about you, moron," the green-eyed teen stated as he turned towards the door and left when the other teen only stared at him blankly. Fakir made his way down the stairs and out of the building. He honestly had a bad feeling about leaving his friend unattended today, but he couldn't exactly cut class. For one thing, Mr. Katze would never accept 'I had a bad feeling' as an excuse for being absent. For another, Rue would give him a hard time. She had an annoying habit of teasing him over how protective he was over the golden-eyed teen. 'Mother hen' was probably the least insulting thing she'd called him over the years. Hopefully, he was just being paranoid, but…he still couldn't shake the feeling that something in his life was about to go horribly wrong.

Fakir's morning classes passed without incident and he was almost thinking that his bad feeling meant nothing as he headed back for the dorms. He wanted to check up on Mytho again, and lunch break was the perfect time to do so. However, all of his concerns came crashing back down on him when he noticed his best friend sitting outside in the middle of the dorm lawn. "What are you doing out here," he demanded. The golden-eyed teen looked back at him passively, "I fell out of the window." The taller young man felt his heart jump into his throat as he choked out a response, "You…WHAT?!" "I fell out of the window," Mytho repeated in the same placid tone as always. "Are you hurt," Fakir worried as he knelt next to his friend and started checking him over. "No," the white-haired teen replied. The dark-haired young man sighed in relief before he frowned in confusion, "That's a three story fall. How the hell did you manage to escape injury?" "She saved me," the shorter teen answered.

The taller teen froze and fixed his friend with an uneasy stare, "She? Who are you talking about?" "I don't know," Mytho replied evenly, "There was a ballerina dressed in white. She left without telling me her name." "A ballerina…in white," Fakir repeated slowly as his mind raced. His bad feeling from earlier suddenly returned with a vengeance. This mystery ballerina may have saved his friend, but…somehow he just could not feel gratitude for her act. Instead he was deeply concerned. Hopefully, it didn't mean anything, but he could not make himself believe it. "I'm taking time off from class until your foot is better," the dark-haired young man declared before he sighed tiredly, "I _told_ you not to make me worry, you idiot…" "Sorry," Mytho glanced at his friend. "Let's get you back to our room," the malachite-eyed teen helped his friend to his feet, "Come on." As he guided the shorter teen back into the dorm he spotted a raven perched on the building's roof and nearly froze in horror. 'The story,' he realized with a start, 'Has it started to move again? If so… I can't let anything happen to Mytho! I won't fail him!'

 **A/N:** And that's the end of the first episode from Fakir's perspective. I'm trying to showcase both sides of his personality. The cold, harsh side we're first introduced to, and the caring, gentle side he keeps hidden away. Since this is from his point of view there is no point in my portraying him as a complete jerk. He has his reasons for acting this way. They may not necessarily be _good_ reasons…but they are still reasons. Besides, we all know Fakir's judgement about what's the right thing to do isn't always the best. Also, I don't believe the reason why he acts like a jerk to Ahiru is because he automatically hates her. He knows better than anyone how dangerous stories can be, and 'The Prince and the Raven' is a nasty one. In my mind, his abrasive personality is meant to keep everyone else as far away from Mytho as possible in order to keep them from getting drawn into the story. As far as he's concerned it's too late for him, and is probably too late for Rue as well (he's not wrong). However, he can still protect everyone else from being caught in the story's web by driving them off. At least, that's my thoughts on how he rationalizes it. Basically, he's a jerk to Ahiru because he recognizes that she is a genuinely nice person and he does not feel she deserves to be caught up in the story along with the rest of them… Too bad it's already too late for her. Ah, that revelation is going to be fun to write… I know I changed Neko-sensei's name to fit the setting better, but left Ahiru's Japanese honorifics in. Assume Drosselmeyer did it. That is going to be my explanation for everything that doesn't make sense in universe. In real life, it's because it feels awkward to me if I leave them out. I have no idea why it feels awkward. It just does. So the honorifics stay in. Even when they don't make sense in context. Finally, I hinted at the fact that Fakir takes studying ballet seriously. Ballet is one of those things you really have to work at in order to excel. I don't know how long he and Mytho were enrolled in the ballet school (for the sake of this story I'm going to say that Fakir was 12 meaning they've been at the Academy for three years by the time the series starts), but they are both _really_ good. Mytho's ability can potentially be explained as latent muscle memory from prior to losing his heart. Fakir…not so much. The anime doesn't show him practicing ballet as a kid meaning he lacks prior experience in any way shape or form. He may have some natural talent, but that can only take you so far. Fakir is _really_ good…which means he probably practices _a lot_. Possibly even more than most of the other students aside from Rue (who, as we have seen in the anime, has been practicing ballet since she was a little girl and _still_ pushes herself to be even better). Basically, my explanation for his level of skill is a combination of natural talent and sheer hard work. End result…well, just look at the scenes where he actually dances. Wow… **Present day edit: So I read over this whole story pretty regularly even after I post things. A few weeks ago I noticed a lot of things that bugged me in earlier chapters. Some were typos, some were sentences that** _ **still**_ **sounded awkward to me when I read them back to myself, some paragraphs struck me as still being a bit too long, and other little errors like that. I didn't want to make more work for myself since I still had two chapters left to edit and post, so I decided that – once the story was fully posted – I would go back, re-edit all the things which bugged me, and then re-upload and post ALL of the chapters before switching story status over to being complete. This chapter was mostly overly-long paragraphs, a few word replacements, and rewriting a few phrases to scan better when read. Because I am just that nitpicky.**


	2. The First Shard

**A/N:** And now we start episode two's perspective shift. These early episodes really don't feature him all that heavily which leaves me with a lot of extra detail to fill in about what he's doing off screen. On another note, I'm trying to work out if I want him to meet Edel before the series says he does. The fic that inspired me to write this has him meet her well before then and she advises _him_ just as much as she does Ahiru. It would explain why he was willing to ask Charon to make Uzura from Edel's unburned wood if he had a prior relationship of some sort with the puppet. I mean, part of it was probably because he saw how attached Ahiru was to the puppet woman and he wanted to try and give her some remnant of her friend she could have around. But that's just a little too sappy for my tastes, so prior relationship is a better option. GAH! Why does this have to be so complicated?! Screw it. Let's just get started with the chapter and I'll agonize about this some more later. Why do I _do_ this to myself…? Here we go! _**Edit: So I was re-working my timeline and I noticed a few timing errors. I have fixed them, but it required me to go back and edit this and a few other chapters I have yet to post. Bleh…**_

 **Disclaimer:** I do not, have never, and will never own Princess Tutu or any of the characters, setting, etc. related to the show. This is something I do as a hobby and make no money off of it. Nor do I wish to. That would make it less fun. No deadlines…

Chapter 2: The First Shard

Fakir was relieved to note that he didn't have to go through with his plan to take time off from class to keep an eye on Mytho while his foot healed. By the morning of the next day of class it had fully recovered and he was good to leave the dorms again. The dark-haired teen had spent the rest of the weekend and the whole walk to class Monday morning keeping an eye out for 'a ballerina in white', but had seen no sign of any such person. He did not let his guard down though. His bad feeling had not lessened in the slightest, so he refused to relax. Fortunately, morning classes passed without much incident beyond one of the girls in the advanced class pulling him to the side after class. "Um, Fakir," the girl asked him shyly. Fakir just frowned at her in annoyance, "What is it?" "Um…I was…er…wondering…," she stammered uneasily before trailing off. If the green-eyed young man had one major pet peeve it was people talking to him and not finishing their sentences. "Just spit it out," he snapped with a sharp glare. "Wouldyougooutwithme," the girl blurted out.

The dark-haired teen had to pause briefly in order to translate the wall of words into a form that made sense, but sighed in annoyance once he did. "Sorry," he stated bluntly, "But I'm not interested." "O-oh…," the girl looked down in disappointment, "I see… Sorry to bother you…" Fakir honestly wasn't sure how to react to her sudden depression as she walked away. It wasn't that he didn't like her. To be honest he didn't really know her well enough to feel anything about her. He didn't really know _any_ of his classmates that well, and didn't even bother to try to remember most of their names. The only classmates he really had any sort of familiarity with were Mytho and Rue. He'd had no idea the girl – she was among the number of classmates whose names he didn't keep track of – was even interested in him. He knew he had admirers, or to be more accurate fangirls. It wasn't like he was blind or deaf. He just didn't know that girl was one of them.

Fakir's attitude towards his admirers was one of chronic annoyance. Much like his opinion on Mytho's fangirls, he felt they only were interested in him because they liked how he looked and admired his talent at ballet. They didn't know anything about him beyond that, and wasted all of their time coming up with ridiculous fantasies about having a future with him. He wouldn't be surprised if most of them didn't imagine him returning their affections which was simply never going to happen. The malachite-eyed teen had sworn off of relationships around the time he realized that such feelings would get in the way of keeping Mytho out of trouble. If he was off spending time with some girl there was no telling what sort of trouble the golden-eyed teen would get into. So those fangirls who held out hope that he might one day show interest in one of them were just plain delusional as far as he was concerned. Fakir wasn't heartless though, and if one of them made the effort to ask him out or something he tried not to be a complete jerk about rejecting them. Unfortunately, his whole 'unobtainable' reputation only seemed to make his admirers even more devoted. It really irritated him…

By the start of lunch break, Fakir had managed to relax somewhat. He still wasn't comfortable enough to completely drop his guard, but he was willing to leave Mytho alone on the campus lawn for a little while so he could enjoy the day's warmth. The emotionless teen had one of the books his friend had borrowed from the library for him to read, after all. For all that he failed to react to most things, the white-haired teen was a surprisingly attentive reader. Besides, the temperature started to fall rapidly the second the sun started going down at this time of year. Best to enjoy the warm weather while they could. Leaving his friend to his reading, Fakir made his way to one of the practice rooms for a one of his extra personal drill sessions. The extra practice wasn't just useful for refining his technique; it also was a form of stress relief. It kept him functional. He quickly donned his practice clothes, shuffled through the selection of music available and finally settled on 'The Infernal Dance' from Stravinsky's Firebird ballet. It was fairly short; short enough that he could run through a quick practice session and still grab something to eat before lunch break ended.

Fakir set the cylinder in the music player, got in position, waited for the music to start…and started to dance. He was careful to keep his movements in time with the music and slowly allowed his mind to drift. He'd heard his classmates comment on his dancing in the past; graceful, they called it, yet also powerful. Sometimes frightening; with a piece like 'The Infernal Dance' he imagined his performance would provoke a more fearful response. It _was_ an intense piece of music, after all. Soon enough, though, the song came to an end and he relaxed from the final pose he'd taken. He brushed away some of the sweat that had collected on his brow and smirked in satisfaction. He hadn't so much as stumbled once; not bad. Fakir was conscientious enough to clean up after himself when he put in extra practice time, and made sure everything was the way it had been when he came in before he left to change back into his uniform. He tried to ignore his stomach's insistent demands for food; he'd satisfy it soon enough, but he wasn't going to just wander around campus in his ballet clothes. Besides, his lunch was stashed in his locker. 'Not that my body cares,' he shook his head in amusement, 'Dancing sure works up an appetite.'

It was only a little before the end of lunch hour when Fakir learned that Mytho had somehow managed to become the talk of the campus yet again. He had been approached by one of the intermediate class students, he heard her name was Arikuimi and that she was an anteater, who had apparently convinced him to date her instead of Rue. Word was that the raven-haired girl did not seem overly worried about the whole affair which was fairly typical of her. Her stubborn pride was probably one of her greatest strengths and biggest weaknesses all at once.

Still, the young man felt the need to talk to his friend about his actions. Part of him hoped that maybe the white-haired teen would understand that he couldn't just go along with what _everyone_ told him to do. The golden-eyed teen was _supposed_ to listen to him, and he _barely_ tolerated him listening to Rue…but that was it. Nobody else knew what Mytho really was. How could they know what was best for him? How could they think they had any right to tell him what to do? They didn't and they couldn't. That was probably what he found the most irritating about the whole thing. The whole reason his friend had even agreed to date Arikuimi was because he was in the habit of doing what he was told. 'I knew he was suggestable, but this…,' Fakir mused as he searched the school for the shorter teen, 'This is just not going to work.'

Fakir found the shorter teen on one of the covered paths between buildings staring blankly into the distance. "You left Rue, didn't you? You're a cruel person," he stated bluntly as he walked up. Mytho didn't even look over as he responded, "Am I?" The green-eyed teen shot a sidelong look at his friend as he continued speaking, "It's because you don't understand people's feelings. That's why doing things like this doesn't bother you." "Sorry," the golden-eyed teen said quietly. Fakir rolled his eyes at the apology, "Idiot. It's fine that way." He hesitated a few moments before he continued, "But you can't just do everything people tell you all the time. Unless it's me or Rue telling you to do something then you shouldn't do it. They don't know you like we do. They can't keep you safe." "Okay," Mytho replied quietly, "I'll only listen to you or Rue."

The dark-haired teen started to walk away before he realized a potential problem with that particular command that he really should correct. He turned and looked back, "I meant that to be applied outside of class. In class, listening to other people is fine." "Okay," the white-haired teen nodded. Fakir sighed in annoyance but resumed his course. He still had to get changed for the afternoon joint class. Honestly, he wasn't really looking forward to it. Mr. Katze was going to be testing them to see where everyone's skill level was at, and he found the whole thing to be quite tedious. The membership in the advanced class was fairly static, so the only ones who stood to advance or fall back were the students in the lower classes. Often times their efforts were just painful to watch and he got no enjoyment out of it. What was the point of making the underclassmen humiliate themselves in front of the higher classes? It was degrading for everyone involved. Still, he couldn't exactly skip without forfeiting his place in the advanced class. He was stuck going, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Fakir scowled at the far wall as Mr. Katze made his speech before the joint class session. "If you take a one-day break from ballet, you will know it," the anthropomorphic feline recited, "if you take a two-day break, the others will know it. And if you take a one-week break, your audience will know it." 'We know, the dark-haired teen grumbled internally, 'You tell us the same exact thing every month when we do this. Only a complete idiot wouldn't have gotten the point by now. We need to practice every day.' "Thus, every day practice is important," the teacher continued. 'Called it,' he snarkily quipped to himself. "For that reason, we will have a test every month to divide the class up," the feline continued, "In the worst case, you will be dropped to the probationary class. That, or you will have to marry me!" Fakir started as he heard one of the underclassmen scream, "I don't want that either!" He looked on in amusement as Mr., Katze started grooming himself furiously.

'Can't say I blame the girl,' he admitted as he waited for the feline to regain his composure, 'Particularly since most of the underclassmen aren't much older than 13 years. Good thing he's never actually tried to follow through on those threats of his.' Fakir glanced over when another one of the underclassmen spoke up to attract the teacher's attention, "Mr. Katze!" The anthropomorphic feline arched his spine in the 'threatened cat' pose as he responded, "Wh-What is it, Arikuimi-san?" The dark-haired teen's gaze focused on the tall anteater girl at the far end of the group. 'So that's Arikuimi,' he thought. He listened as she challenged Rue for her spot in the special class. The special class was little more than a small offshoot of the advanced class that specifically trained girls to become prima ballerinas. It _was_ pretty exclusive, but it also demanded a lot from its members. Not many could handle the work involved. It soon became clear to him that the whole reason she wanted it was to make Rue look bad. 'What a waste of time,' he scowled, 'I bet that's why she went after Mytho, too. Idiot.'

Fakir sat on the floor with the rest of the class as Arikuimi and Mytho danced their pas de deux. He wasn't impressed by what he saw. The anteater girl, while clearly skilled, was trying far too hard while his friend was his usual self. The golden-eyed teen was as graceful as always, and his technique was flawless. Yet his passionless grace clashed with the anteater girl's aggressive display. They were a bad match and it showed. 'If it's for pas de deux alone then I can agree with him and Rue being a good match,' the dark-haired teen sighed, 'Their styles complement each other. This…this is just painful to watch.' He was relieved when their routine was over. He was indifferent to the mockery in the anteater girl's voice as she challenged Rue a second time. However, he did take note of who the burgundy-eyed girl selected as her partner for her routine. It was the red head from the other day; the one who tried to apologize to Mytho.

Fakir wasn't all that interested in the girl herself, though her vigorous denials of her suitability to be partnered with Rue did catch his attention. He also took note of her name: Ahiru. As he watched her dance from the corner of his eye he had to admit her name fit. She was about as graceful as a duck on dry land. Her dancing was painfully awkward, but she _was_ an underclassman. Most likely she was in one of the beginning classes, so expecting decent technique was just unreasonable. 'I guess I've seen worse,' he admitted to himself, 'and at least she's _trying_ not to make a complete fool of herself.' She clearly enjoyed herself, though, which was more than he could say for that Arikuimi girl. Ahiru's pure joy as she danced made up for a lot of her shortcomings, and Rue proved her own skill by working around her partner's inexperience to put on what, he had to admit, was a decent performance. Much better than the last one. That was why, when it ended, Fakir waited a few moments before he started clapping slowly. It wasn't a sarcastic clap either. He felt they both deserved the applause, and soon the rest of the class started clapping as well.

After class, Mytho vanished with Arikuimi which annoyed him. He figured she'd have given up on using his friend to make Rue jealous, and set out to look for them. "Where is he," he muttered in frustration after the tenth spot he checked, "This is getting ridiculous. I told him not to listen to anyone other than Rue and I outside of class." He did acknowledge that there was a slight loophole to what he'd said. If Arikuimi had told the golden-eyed boy to follow her before the end of class he'd go along with whatever he was told. 'Maybe I should have been more specific and told him that it was the teachers I wanted him to listen to and not our classmates,' he considered as he continued looking, 'You wouldn't think I'd _need_ to be so specific… Then again this _is_ Mytho.'

He continued searching and eventually got so frustrated that he called out his friend's name, "Mytho! Where are you?!" Fakir ran through the small woodland on campus and called out once more, "Mytho!" He stopped and glanced to the left where he finally spotted his friend standing alone. "Mytho," he called in relief and ran over. He noticed that the shorter teen had his hands held over his heart and saw him start to sway which sent a thrill of fear through him. He caught his friend before he fell and looked down at him in concern, "What's wrong, Mytho?" Mytho looked confused, "What is this feeling…" Fakir's eyes widened, "Feeling?" This was not something he wanted to hear. If his friend was starting to feel again…that meant the story could start to move. He didn't even want to _think_ about what that would lead to. Not now. "Let's head back," the malachite-eyed teen suggested uneasily. Mytho only nodded absently and let his taller friend lead him back towards the main lawn.

Late that night, Fakir sat up and thought hard about Mytho's confusion in the woods. He'd been without emotions for so long that he likely had no idea how to react to suddenly feeling something. That and, considering his friend had no memory of what happened before he shattered his heart, this was effectively the first time he could remember feeling _anything_. 'Is Mytho's heart really returning to him,' he wondered, 'This…is not good. Could the story really be starting up again? Damn it! I have to stop it somehow! Otherwise…' The dark-haired teen swallowed hard and looked over at his white-haired room-mate's slumbering form. He still couldn't admit it even to himself. The fates that awaited them both if the story was back in motion…

'I won't accept it,' he vowed fiercely, 'I'll stop the story and nothing will have to change. I just need to figure out how his heart is being returned to him. Once I manage that…' "I can stop this…and everything will go back to how it used to be," the green-eyed teen whispered. He had but one clue: the white-clad ballerina Mytho had mentioned the day before. He didn't _say_ she'd been the one to return the piece of his heart to him, but he figured it was a pretty good bet. 'Whoever you are,' Fakir glared fiercely out the window, 'I'll stop you. You have _no_ idea how much trouble your interference will cause. The harm you will bring. I'll stop you…and make you see Mytho doesn't _need_ his heart back! Even with all the headaches and stress he causes me…he's fine as he is.'

 **A/N:** And that's another chapter down. I realize its short, but this whole episode takes place in a single day. Not much happens, and I am really bad at providing filler. Still, we're seeing a little more into how Fakir is experiencing everything. The girl asking Fakir out in the beginning of the chapter is kind of a throwaway character. She exists purely to provide a lead in for the next paragraph which gives a bit on insight on how Fakir views his admirers and on relationships at this point. I felt it deserved detailing in order to provide contrast to his future interactions with Ahiru and where they ultimately lead him. This _is_ a Princess Tutu fic based on the events of the anime. This is no spoiler because you all know it's coming. Unless you have yet to watch the anime. In which case I am wondering why the hell you are even reading this? Seriously. Go watch the show; then come back and read some more. Do it. Do it now! The offhand reference to the weather is a setting point. Basically, my original head-canon had the events of the series begin in autumn and progress through to the end of season one at the start of winter. Mytho's corruption by the Raven's blood would last all winter and the series finale would be in spring. Mostly because there is a strong symbolic correlation between spring and hope. Only I've run into a problem. The series progresses too fast for me to stretch events across three whole seasons. The finale will be in spring regardless…it's the rest of the series' seasonal setting that is giving me some trouble. I needed to do math… Bleh… Basically, either way I run it the series starts in the dead of winter. Specifically on New Year's Day for the first episode based on the timeline I selected. I thought there was something poetic about that. Why are the trees and things green and the weather so nice? Drosselmeyer did it. Personal artistic license says the old man likes to have it warm during the day during winter, but absolutely frigid at night. How do I excuse such warping of reality? The Story Spinning power _is_ a form of reality warping! I can pull crap like this and not actually break canon! It's allowable! Thank you, writers, for making that power so vaguely defined in its limitations and uses… Also…I was actually listening to the Firebird ballet on YouTube while I was writing Fakir's little practice session. I freaking _love_ Stravinsky and have ever since I first saw Fantasia when I was…eh…4 or 5 I think. I loved the 'Rite of Spring' segment. Then Fantasia 2000 came out and they did a segment on the 'Firebird Suite'… I cannot watch that without tearing up the music is so beautiful. Also the animation is pretty, but I mostly react to the music. I love classical music! LOVE IT! Finally that bit where Fakir thinks 'called it' was my little shout out to Princess Tutu Abridged. It's funny and I like it. I may sprinkle in random things like that just for my own amusement. Fair warning. **Present day edit: More paragraph length reduction, and I decided to take out the bit where I highlighted how the show's creators basically tailored him to fit the archetype of tall, dark, handsome, and damaged perfectly…which makes him irresistible to some females. It just felt like it didn't really fit, so I got rid of it. I still find his character arc to be his most appealing trait, though! That has not changed!**


	3. Princess Tutu?

**A/N:** Episode three! Slowly, but surely the episodes start having more Fakir screen time. Now there just needs to be more of him with Ahiru. What? I like this pairing. I think I've mentioned that I was inspired to write this story by another fic already up on the site in this section. I kind of just realized I hadn't told you all what it was called so you could check it out. The fic is 'I will protect' by GwenuitHolland and is actually the first in a trilogy of fics she wrote revolving around the Fakir/Ahiru pairing. I like the first fic more than the other two, to be honest, and it will not be leaving my favorites list any time soon. Not much to say about this chapter, so let's just begin.

 **Disclaimer:** Yeah, I still own none of the things that appear in this fic. Though if I did…there would have been a lot more Fakir/Ahiru interaction, a lot more Fakir torture, a third season, and Ahiru would officially return his feelings for her. Also Mytho wouldn't be so bloody _boring_ for most of the series. Now I must hide from the Mytho fangirls…

Chapter 3: Princess Tutu?

Two weeks had passed since Mytho felt something for the first time in years, and no sign had been seen of the white-clad ballerina. Fakir had been keeping a much closer eye than usual on his white-haired friend since that day; not letting him out of his sight for even a moment. He feared that to do so would lead to another piece of his heart returning before he could act to prevent it. The golden-eyed teen accepted this as he always had; the newly returned shard of his heart too weak on its own to grant him more than the barest hint of self-awareness. However, for all that his friend may have accepted the taller teen's insistence that he stay nearby…he still wandered off from time to time. The dark-haired teen sighed as he leaned against the wall next to the fountain behind one of the practice rooms. He'd never realized just how stressful keeping his guard up all the time could be, but for Mytho's sake he would endure. He had to.

He sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd spent the past hour trying to find Mytho when the shorter teen disappeared after class. "God…damn it, Mytho…," Fakir grumbled as he tried to fight off his growing tension headache. The green-eyed young man groaned and pushed himself off of the wall before resuming his search. The annoying thing was that morning classes had passed entirely without incident and, since today was only a half-day, there shouldn't have _been_ any problems. He _should_ have just been able to grab Mytho and lead him back to the dorms; the plan _had_ been to keep the golden-eyed teen distracted with a new batch of books from the library. 'But, of course, the universe hates me and he just _had_ to wander off. I just hope that idiot hasn't hurt himself again,' the dark-haired teen grumbled to himself, 'I swear, one of these days I am just going to lock him in a room. _That'd_ stop him from wandering off. He _knows_ I worry!'

Fakir winced as hunger pains shot through his gut as he approached the main ballet studio. His stomach was not happy that he had skipped out on eating lunch in favor of searching for his friend, but he was doing his best to ignore it. Admittedly, after the drills Mr. Katze had assigned the advanced class that morning, his body _really_ needed the calories. Sadly, this was far from the first time the dark-haired teen had put off eating when he really shouldn't. As on this occasion, all previous instances had been due to the fact that his golden-eyed friend had gone missing. Taking care of Mytho took priority over his own needs; including his need for food. Privately, Fakir didn't expect to find his friend in the main building, but he was getting desperate; mostly from hunger. He was hoping that one of the other students had spotted the white-haired teen and could give him a clue to narrow down his search. 'Any assistance would be useful at this point,' Fakir admitted to himself.

Unfortunately, the first floor lesson rooms were unoccupied which left only the main lesson room. 'If I can't find anybody there,' the malachite-eyed teen rubbed his temples as he paused at the base of the stairs, 'I'll probably end up spending the rest of the afternoon praying I'll get lucky. God damn it, Mytho… Why can't you just stick close and not wander off?' He noticed two underclassmen coming down the stairs and chatting idly, but didn't pay much attention to their conversation. "Hey," Fakir held out a hand to block their path, "Have either of you seen, Mytho?" "Eh, Mytho," the taller of the two girls blushed slightly, "Uh, no I haven't. Why?" "I need to find him," he answered shortly. "Maybe he was spirited away," the blonde girl squealed, "by a passing band of gypsies who were entranced by his exotic golden eyes!" "Gypsies," her friend asked incredulously. "They plan to have him marry one of their young girls," the blonde continued, "But little does he know that the girl they intend for him to wed has an admirer among her fellows, and he has plans to get rid of his rival! A spectacular battle for the maiden's heart is imminent! Ah, how exciting…"

"Stuff like that doesn't happen in real life," the pink-haired girl deadpanned. "You lie," the shorter girl countered. "Meaning you haven't seen him either," Fakir concluded with an exasperated eye-roll, "Wonderful…" "Ahiru's still practicing upstairs," the taller girl offered, "Maybe she's seen him." The dark haired teen hesitated a few moments as he tried to place the name before he remembered the awkward girl who had danced with Rue. He nodded his head to the pink-haired underclassman, "Thank you. I'll ask her." "Uh, no problem," the girl blushed again as he brushed passed her and her annoying friend. The green-eyed young man ignored her reaction as he continued up the stairs. As he walked he recalled that this Ahiru girl did seem to have an interest in Mytho. He vaguely remembered her asking after him when the shorter teen had injured his foot. He really didn't want her to get involved, but he was really getting impatient.

When Fakir reached the main lesson room he noticed the door was open and glanced through it. Sure enough, there was the red-headed underclassman sitting on the floor and staring out the window wondering aloud if she should practice some more. The dark-haired teen leaned against the doorway and called out, "Hey!" Wide blue eyes locked onto his form as he continued, "Have you seen Mytho?" "Is something wrong with Mytho-senpai," she asked with a suspicious look. The young man looked away as he growled in frustration, "He went out without telling me…" 'Again,' he grumbled internally. The girl, Ahiru he recalled once more, was dismissive, "Who cares about that? Mytho-senpai is Rue-chan's boyfriend, after all." The malachite-eyed teen whipped his head around and snapped, "What?!" He cursed internally for not working it out earlier. Of _course_ , it was Rue who'd lured his friend off! Damn that girl! "Is he with Rue," he demanded as he swiftly walked over to the red-head with a cold look on his face, "Where did they go? Answer me!" Fakir glared down at her as he finished. He may _tolerate_ Rue, but he didn't really trust the raven-haired girl. She was always encouraging Mytho to say he liked her and other pointless thoughts. The last thing he needed was for his friend to think emotions were _important_. That would make keeping him safe from the story's influence far more difficult…which meant even _more_ stress.

Ahiru looked up at him nervously and her voice quavered as she answered, "I don't know…" "You're lying," the dark-haired teen snapped back. "It's true, I tell you," she protested desperately. He frowned uneasily as he considered that she might actually be telling him the truth. She was clearly terrified of him which wasn't surprising. Most of the underclassmen, if they didn't suffer from delusional fangirl fantasies, were afraid of him. She could just be lying to make him go away and leave her alone, but…looking down at her innocent blue eyes he couldn't make himself believe that. She really had no idea where Rue and Mytho were even if she had clearly gotten a glimpse of them together. This…complicated things. Finding his white-haired friend on his own was difficult enough. Adding the raven-haired ballerina to the equation made things even worse.

Fakir let out an annoyed huff and backed away from the cowering underclassman before turning to leave. He had only made it half-way across the room before the girl suddenly blurted, "Umm… Do you know the story of 'The Prince and the Raven'?" The dark-haired teen froze. Did she seriously just ask him what he thought she did? "What about it," he replied in a tone of forced calm as he glanced back towards her. "Well, I'm not really sure…," she admitted uncertainly. He scoffed again as he turned away but his thoughts weren't anywhere near as calm as he appeared. 'I can't tell her _anything_ about that story,' his mind raced furiously, 'Not without risking getting her tangled in its web. The best thing I can do is discourage her from looking into it any further than she already has. But how…' "It's just a childish fairy tale," he lied, judging that to be the safest way to discourage her interest, as he walked out of the room. After shutting the door behind him Fakir brought his hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose as his headache worsened. 'Why does she have to be so damned curious,' he groaned as he walked away, 'Forget about the story and forget about Mytho, you idiot, if you know what's good for you!'

The green-eyed teen spent another hour or so searching campus before he finally had to acknowledge that the two he sought weren't on Academy grounds. Meaning they were somewhere in town. He gave a resigned sigh as he realized he probably wasn't going to catch up with either Mytho or Rue if he continued searching on foot. Goldkrone was far too large to search alone. 'Which means,' he acknowledged reluctantly, 'I need to swing by home to grab Parsival. I can cover a lot more ground on horseback.' The problem was his relationship with his adoptive father had deteriorated badly over the years. The man used to be the most supportive father figure he could have asked for in the aftermath of his parents' deaths, but… Sometime after he befriended the golden-eyed teen, his father had grown increasingly critical of his actions. Fakir honestly had no idea what had sparked the change. It was as though one day the man had been his normal self, and the next he was second guessing everything his adopted son did. It was frustrating. "What was it I did to make you lose all faith in me," he sighed sadly as he made his way towards the Academy gates, "Why did you change, Charon?"

Fakir sighed in relief as he realized his father was busy in the forge. He could saddle up his horse, lead him out, complete his search, and make it back to the Academy without the man ever realizing he was there. Parsival, a brown gelding with a straw colored mane and tail, whickered when the teen walked into the stable. Smiling softly, the malachite-eyed teen reached up to pat the horse on his neck. "Hey, Pars," he murmured in greeting, "It's been a while, hasn't it?" The gelding lipped at the pockets of the teen's jacket prompting an amused laugh, "Sorry, boy. No treats today." The dark-haired young man pulled down his tack.

He had been riding horses since he was ten, so he was well experienced with the tricks horses liked to pull while being saddled up. He smirked as the equine tried his usual 'hold my breath so the cinch stays nice and loose' trick. "Nice try," Fakir murmured as he waited for the gelding to breathe out before tightening the saddle down the rest of the way. Fortunately, Parsival was the laid back type of horse who's tricks stopped at the breath holding, so slipping the bridle on took very little time. Lightly gripping the reins, the green-eyed teen led the horse out of his stable. He then mounted up, and clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth as he flicked the reins. The gelding sprung into a brisk walk before accelerating into a relaxed canter and he guided the horse through the city streets. 'Hopefully, I can avoid Charon a second time when I bring him back home…after I find Mytho,' Fakir mused as he deftly weaved his mount through Goldkrone's normal afternoon foot and cart traffic.

Fakir had been right about his being able to cover a lot more ground on horseback, but it still took him another hour before he found _one_ of the people he's been looking for. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one he _wanted_ to find. Parsival whickered as his rider reined him to a stop next to the dozing Rue. She opened her eyes slowly with a slight smile on her face as the dark-haired teen glowered down at her. "Where did Mytho go," he asked coldly. The raven-haired girl stretched out one leg and pulled an arm up behind her head before responding flippantly, "I don't know." The green-eyed young man's eyes narrowed as he requested coldly, "Don't take Mytho out without letting me know." Considering how much of a hard time she gave him over his overprotective habits, he knew that _she_ knew full well how much he worried over the white haired teen's well-being. The least she could do was have the courtesy to inform him of her intentions so that he didn't worry _as much_. Fakir didn't really trust her all that much, so he would be uneasy regardless. Still, knowing that _someone_ was keeping an eye on Mytho was preferable to thinking he was off on his own. However, the burgundy-eyed girl gained far more enjoyment out of mocking his efforts than she did cooperating and this incident was clearly not going to be an exception

Rue leaned forward over her knees as she looked up at him, "Mytho isn't your possession, now is he?" His eye twitched at that. He couldn't exactly deny that he was territorial when it came to the people he cared for, but it was out of concern for their well-being. Besides, it wasn't as though she wasn't just as bad on the possessiveness scale. "Neither is he yours," he replied coldly. Rue shot him a cold look at that before standing as though she intended to walk away. For all that he tolerated her presence, Fakir had always been suspicious of the raven-haired ballerina and had a sudden thought as he watched her stand. 'Could she be the one trying to return Mytho's heart to him,' he wondered as he closed his eyes thoughtfully, 'Perhaps I should test her…' "Mytho mentioned the word 'feeling'," the dark-haired teen stated flatly before shooting her a glance out of the corner of his eye. The burgundy-eyed girl gasped in surprise as her eyes widened. "What did you say," she asked in disbelief as she turned towards the mounted teen. 'So she had no idea he's regained a shard of his heart,' he considered, 'Then again, she could be lying… I wouldn't put it past her.'

"Where is Mytho," Fakir asked a second time. Rue scowled at him before brushing off her skirt and turning away, "He went to get me some water. He's not back yet." The dark-haired teen couldn't believe she'd let him go off on his own and gave her a look, "By himself?" The raven haired girl shot back a mocking grin, "Whom else do you think he'd go with? This isn't like you at all. What are you so frantic about?" The malachite-eyed teen wasn't even going to dignify her mockery with a response and flicked Parsival's reins to continue his search. The burgundy eyed girl interrupted him before the horse could take more than a few steps, "Wait right there." He pulled up his mount and glanced back as she continued with a challenging look, "You're going to look for Mytho, right? I'll go too." Fakir gave her a skeptical look, "And here I thought you were fine with him going off on his own." Rue gave him a sharp glare, "I _was_ …up until you brought up him mentioning the word 'feeling'. I 'm happy with Mytho remaining exactly as he is. Remember that." The dark-haired teen couldn't deny that. It was the main reason he tolerated her being around Mytho. The one thing they both agreed on was that the white haired teen was better off remaining unchanged…though Rue would rather her boyfriend returned her feelings and the dark-haired young man would prefer it if his friend had less of a death wish.

Fakir sighed and reached a hand down to pull her up on Parsival's back, "Come on then." "Where exactly do you expect me to sit," she asked skeptically. The green-eyed teen rolled his eyes, "Behind me. You can hold onto my waist if you think you'll fall off." Rue huffed indignantly, but took his hand and allowed him to pull her up. She settled herself down on the back of the saddle and hesitantly placed her hands on his waist. "This is extremely uncomfortable," she complained. "Yet it is much faster than searching by foot," the young man shot back before flicking the reins and clicking his tongue. The raven-haired girl let out a startled squeak as the horse slowly accelerated into a canter and ended up wrapping her arms around his chest. "What are you doing," Fakir asked in an annoyed tone. "Too fast," Rue whimpered. The dark-haired teen rolled his eyes before reining Parsival back down to a trot. "Is that better," he shot back mockingly, "or are you going to continue clinging on to me like a limpet?" The burgundy eyed ballerina readjusted her grip and glowered at the older teen's back, "I hate you." "Believe me," the malachite-eyed young man replied coldly, "The feeling is mutual."

They spent another hour searching and soon reached a large forested park within the town walls. Strictly speaking, it wasn't part of the town itself but had been preserved by the long dead nobleman who built the walls back in the Dark Ages. Why this had been was lost to time, but the townsfolk enjoyed the wilderness-like park. The two dark haired teens weren't in the woods long before Rue suddenly called out, "Wait!" Fakir pulled back on the reins and glanced back at his passenger, "What?" "I saw Mytho," she pointed through a gap in the trees, "Over there!" The dark-haired teen breathed in sharply before letting out a quiet sigh of relief. "Finally," he breathed before sliding down from Parsival's back. The raven-haired girl followed his example and tagged along behind him as he led the gelding through the gap she'd spotted. He raised his eyebrow slightly as he noted that Mytho was standing in front of a restaurant and idly wondered why anyone would build such a thing in such an isolated location. There were barely any trails through this particular park, and the nearest ones didn't even approach the building. It would be sheer luck if anyone even noticed the place! However, he discarded the thought as irrelevant as he drew near to where his friend was standing.

The white-haired teen looked up and over as his two friends approached. "Mytho, what were you doing out here," Fakir asked in confusion; it wasn't exactly normal for his emotionless friend to wander off quite _this_ far. The golden-eyed teen just stared blankly at them. "Hey," the dark-haired young man snapped worriedly, hoping to prompt a response. "Nothing," Mytho admitted but his tone was oddly flippant. It was typical response, but the tone was so out of character that it made both dark-haired teens gasp slightly in surprise. The green-eyed young man scowled once he recovered and demanded quietly, "What happened?" "Princess Tutu…," Mytho said calmly as he gazed at the palm of his right hand, "She touched me." Fakir stared in disbelief, "Princess Tutu?" "What nonsense," Rue scoffed, "That's just a story." The dark-haired teen shot the girl a warning look as she continued amusedly, "She was gifted with beauty, wisdom, and strength, but the thing is, the princess is fated never to be with her prince. The moment she confessed to him, she disappeared in a flash of light."

'We know the story,' Fakir thought with a sharp glare, 'I only read the passage in question to him God only knows how many times when we were younger.' He blinked in surprise as he heard what sounded like a duck's quack from around the side of the restaurant, but disregarded it. "Regardless," he stated in an annoyed tone, "I've spent most of the afternoon looking for you. If Rue wants to spend time with you, fine, but at least _tell_ me first. I swear…" Anything else he might have said was cut off by his stomach choosing to express its discontent with being empty once more. Mytho gave his taller friend a confused look as he flinched. The raven-haired girl sighed in exasperation, "You skipped lunch to look for him, didn't you?"

When he only looked away she sighed again and shook her head before continuing, "You realize that keeping this up is only hurting you in the long run." "Doesn't matter," he replied shortly, "Let's go, Mytho." "Rue asked me to get her some water," the white-haired teen stated dully. Fakir groaned and rubbed at his temples as the tension headache that had _finally_ started to fade upon finding his errant friend returned with a vengeance. "Then ask for some from the restaurant," he grumbled tightly. "Okay," Mytho replied and wandered over to the building. "He's going to give me an aneurysm one of these days," Fakir stated flatly. "There are worse ways to die," the burgundy-eyed girl commented. The malachite-eyed teen flinched slightly before he replied quietly, "I know."

Once Mytho returned with the bottle full of water for Rue, Fakir climbed back on Parsival after extracting a promise from the raven-haired to have the white-haired teen back at the dorms before dinner. He signaled the horse to canter and headed back for his house. As he rode he started to wonder if 'touching him' was all this Princess Tutu had done to his friend. He showed a hint of emotion earlier that hadn't been there before. It was concerning. 'Could Princess Tutu…be the white clad ballerina,' he wondered, 'Is she the one who is returning Mytho's heart to him? Is she the one…I have to fight?' The dark haired teen scowled as he turned down a side street, 'If so then so be it. I'll do what I must to keep him safe. I _won't_ let Mytho suffer again! I will protect him!' He got back to the home he once shared with his father and was relieved to find the smith was still in the forge. Swiftly, the teen climbed down from his horse, returned him to the stable, removed his tack, rubbed him down, and gave him some extra hay as a treat. Fakir then slipped back out and headed for the nearest café. He didn't want to end up passing out from hunger, and he was honestly starting to feel a bit dizzy. The sooner he ate something the better.

 **A/N:** So I decided to give further instances of a) some of the sacrifices Fakir makes to keep Mytho safe and b) his kindness to animals. Watching the show again as I write this fic and I am realizing that his horse must trust him a _lot_ in order to go along with some of the things he pulls on horseback. I used to participate in the equine class of 4-H when I was younger for…eh…about four or five years, so I have a pretty good idea of what horses will and won't do. Also, my mom does Parelli Natural Horsemanship and trains all three of her horses in that style. I learn a lot just by watching her work with them. What I've figured out is that if they don't trust you the list of 'won'ts' goes way up. Horses don't trust people who are cruel to them, so Fakir must be _really_ nice to his horse. We already know he's kind to animals because he's kind to Ahiru in duck mode pre-episode 12. I felt it was fitting to give further examples of that side of him. As for the whole skipping lunch thing…I wasn't trying to imply that Fakir deliberately starves himself because he doesn't. If anything I was implying that his priorities are a bit messed up…which they are. Not that I'm much better seeing as when I write I often neglect feeding myself…and bathing…and sleeping… Yeah… I really can't criticize, can I? Oops. Also if you're wondering about the horse's name, I got it from the same story that the name Lohengrin comes from. According to Wikipedia, Parsival was the name of the Swan Knight Lohengrin's father. I've also seen the name spelt Parsifal or Percival. The fun thing is the original legend is apparently of Germanic origin and is tied to the Arthurian mythos. I thought that was cool. The internet is a useful tool for curious writers. Well, I'll see you all next chapter. **Present day edit: More paragraph reduction, more word replacement, and I added a word. Really minor changes this time, but they still bugged me…**


	4. Enter the Puppet

**A/N:** So…this episode has _very_ little Fakir screen time meaning I am going to be making up pretty much everything. I think I am going to have him encounter Edel in this chapter. It's a good two episodes later than Ahiru did, so now's as good a time as any. Plus it means she can start hinting for both of them to TEAM UP ALREADY! You know that's what she is doing. Not sure how long this chapter is going to be as it depends on just how much I can make up for Fakir to do off screen. Maybe I can have him practice his swordplay… Mmmm… Swords….so shiny…and pointy…and _deadly_ … Mmmm….. Right! Chapter starting!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. If I did Fakir would have come _much_ closer to dying…and such instances would have been far more frequent. If I didn't think it would break suspension of disbelief I may have even tried to fit in a death scene for him. I like death scenes. OOH! Maybe I could have done a flashback to when his past-self died! Then again this is me…that would have been extremely graphic… There would have been blood…and guts…and emotional trauma for the Prince… You know, in retrospect it's probably a good thing I _don't_ own this franchise. Things would have been _way_ darker…perhaps not quite as tragic as Drosselmeyer would prefer…but definitely darker…

Chapter 4: Enter the Puppet

A week had passed without incident since Mytho wandered off to the strangely isolated restaurant and mentioned Princess Tutu. A whole week with nothing out of the ordinary occurring…aside from that the golden-eyed boy kept questioning what he was feeling. Fakir was worried; really worried. At first, the shorter teen hadn't seemed all that different in the aftermath of his apparent encounter with the mystery ballerina, but now… Now he would often stare out the window with a confused look on his face while pondering his newly returned emotions. It was clear that he didn't understand what they were or why he felt _anything_ , but the fact that he was feeling _at all_ was concerning. His heart was returning to him…and that meant the story was starting to move as the dark-haired teen had feared. He tried his best to discourage his friend from thinking about his new emotions. In truth, he was hoping that maybe if his formerly emotionless friend ignored them that they would fade away and the story would stall again. Mytho, however, wouldn't stop thinking about them. So yes, Fakir was _very_ worried.

Mr. Katze had given the rest of the advanced class the day off in order to focus on the special class, so the two teenage boys had spent their free time hanging around the dorm. Fakir had headed out earlier that morning to exchange the current batch of library books for some new ones, and had left Mytho on his own. When he returned, he noted that his friend was staring out the window again and mumbling to himself. He couldn't quite make out the other teen's words, but he had a pretty good idea of what they were anyways. 'He's thinking about emotions again,' he scowled viciously as he placed the books heavily down on the dresser next to the door and walked up behind his room-mate. The shorter teen turned slightly at his approach and gave his normal quiet greeting, "Fakir…" "What's with that look on your face," the dark-haired teen asked in a deceptively calm voice.

His white-haired friend looked vaguely confused as he responded, "What? What look?" Fakir gave his friend a disbelieving look before narrowing his eyes slightly, "What were you thinking about?" The golden-eyed teen just looked at him blankly, "Huh?" The taller young man took a few steps closer as he clarified, "Just now, what were you thinking about?" A slightly pained look flickered across that blank face as his friend spoke in his normal even tone, "Someone… Someone is calling me. I don't know who it is, but I feel like I can understand what that person is feeling. They have a pain deep in their heart, a desire to see someone… to meet that person and talk to them. Feelings like that…I have them too. I was thinking, is this the feeling called loneliness?"

Fakir felt his chest tighten at those words. 'The feeling of loneliness, he says,' he frowned once his friend finished talking, 'Mytho is getting his heart back.' It was bad enough for him to be thinking about emotion, but this… He hadn't thought about _which_ emotions his friend might have had returned. For them to be painful ones… That settled it. He had to make it clear to the golden-eyed teen that these feelings were only hurting him! That they were best forgotten and buried. This was exactly why he felt that Mytho was better off not feeling anything! The dark-haired young man grabbed his friend roughly by the arm, drug him over to the mirror that covered the far wall, and forced him to look at himself before almost snarling, "Look at this face!" He hated seeing _anything_ resembling pain on those normally peaceful features. "I _hate_ it, this face," the taller teen snapped as he grabbed his friend's chin for added emphasis before continuing passionately, "Worthless emotions… This repulsive face that's regained the feeling of loneliness. Is it fun to remember that feeling? Does it feel good to you, Mytho?" Mytho closed his eyes submissively at the end of his friend's tirade and admitted, "No." Fakir turned his white-haired friend around to look at him before pushing him slightly so that he was leaning against the mirror as he finished making his point, "Exactly. You have no need for a heart! No need at all! If you get that back…"

He trailed off at the end as he considered the true consequences of such a thing, 'If you get that back then…you'll be trapped in that cycle of suffering again. This town may end up being destroyed when the conflict resumes. And I… I could…' He couldn't finish the thought. The white haired teen was clueless of his taller friend's inner turmoil as he repeated, "If I get it back…" The green-eyed teen mentally shook himself free of his thoughts before concluding, "Anyway, don't be so foolish as to want a heart! Understand?!" "Yes," Mytho replied quietly. That wasn't going to be enough for Fakir to relax this time and he leaned closer as he snapped, "I can't hear you." The golden-eyed teen raised his eyes to meet the worried gaze boring into him as he replied once more, "I understand, Fakir. I'll do as you say."

The dark-haired teen finally drew back – though he couldn't quite suppress the look of grim satisfaction that crept across his face – as he affirmed quietly, "Good, that's the way it should be." He smoothed out the ruffles his rough handling had created in Mytho's uniform before he sighed slightly. "I only want what's best for you, Mytho," Fakir told his friend quietly, "You know that." "I know," the shorter teen replied before his attention focused on the pile of books his friend had dropped on the table. The malachite-eyed young man followed his gaze and his expression softened slightly. At least that much remained the same; the formerly-emotionless teen could still be distracted by books.

The rest of the morning passed without incident as the two teens sat quietly reading, then around noon Mytho spoke up. "Fakir," the golden-eyed teen glanced over at his friend. "What," Fakir replied without looking up from the novel he'd grabbed for himself. "Rue wants to spend the afternoon with me," his friend explained. "Fine," the dark-haired young man sighed in resignation, "Thank you for telling me. Don't stay out too late." He didn't like the idea, but he couldn't completely restrict his friend's freedom to interact with other people. Limit it, yes, and he did as often as he could. But cutting him off completely…he wasn't quite willing to go that far. Not yet at least. The dark-haired teen wasn't willing to disregard the option entirely; not if it could save Mytho.

The fact was there was very little he _wouldn't_ do for the sake of his friend. Hell, he was willing to kill if it became necessary. He was snapped out of his admittedly dark train of thought when the white haired teen set his book down, stood, and made for the door. "I'm off," he stated evenly as he stepped out. "Take care," Fakir replied with a worried glance. He _really_ wasn't comfortable with letting the shorter teen go off alone with Rue. Not with this Princess Tutu character running around. However, he was certain that if he tried to trail them the raven haired ballerina would notice and she'd start sniping at him again. The he would retaliate and chances were they'd end up in yet another verbal fight. They really didn't get along. Still… 'Screw it,' he scowled as he set a bookmark in place and set his book down, 'I can't just leave him alone when he's like this. I have a duty to uphold…'

Fakir was quite experienced at tailing his best friend when he was on one of his 'dates'. Perhaps it was a little creepy, but he just _did not trust_ Rue. He was never entirely sure _why_ she made him uneasy, only that his instincts continually cautioned him to be wary of the girl. It didn't help that the things they told the golden-eyed teen were often in direct opposition. The green-eyed young man _really_ wished she would stop encouraging his friend to say he liked her all the time, but wasn't holding his breath on that happening any time soon. He wasn't oblivious. He knew she genuinely loved Mytho and was well aware that _normal_ couples told each other that they loved each other fairly regularly. But his friend wasn't normal.

Sure enough, as he observed them sitting under the gazebo in the campus park, she started trying to get Mytho to admit that he liked her again. At least she had the consideration to back him up on the not needing a heart part for once. He was debating about whether he should cut their 'date' short or not when, to his dismay, the white-haired teen brought up the feeling of loneliness _again_. It was a small consolation that the raven haired ballerina seemed just as disturbed as he had been, but the fact that he was _still thinking about it_ could not be tolerated! The dark-haired young man scowled and called out harshly, "Rue!" The two teens looked over at him as he approached. "Would you please stop making him remember worthless things," he requested coldly; he'd made up his mind and, as far as he was concerned, this little 'date' of theirs was over. Upon reaching the gazebo they had been sitting under he shot his friend a look, "Mytho, go back to your room." Mytho mumbled passively, "Okay." Then he stood and walked away.

Both dark-haired teens waited before he was out of earshot before returning their attention to each other. "You better not be the one making Mytho remember strange things," Fakir challenged in a quiet tone. "As if…," Rue replied flippantly. "Then who are you saying did it," the taller teen narrowed his eyes. The raven-haired ballerina gave a short, mocking laugh before she replied, "Maybe it's Princess Tutu from the fairy tale? Maybe she's appeared in reality-" The green-eyed young man cut her off with a cold glare, "Ridiculous!" Burgundy eyes matched him glare for glare as he continued, "Try to stay away from Mytho from now on." The garnet-eyed girl surged to her feet and got right in his face as she snapped back, "Don't keep ordering me around like that! I'm not like Mytho!" "I'm aware," Fakir replied coldly, "Yet my _request_ stands." She huffed angrily and stormed away. As he watched her go he remembered their first real interaction and what she'd said to him. 'She told me not to get in her way,' he recalled with a concerned frown, 'I have no idea if she is Princess Tutu or not…but I can't trust her intentions either way. Just because they _currently_ align with mine for the most part…doesn't mean they always will.'

Fakir didn't head straight back to the dorms after his confrontation with Rue, but instead swung by his house. His bad mood had only been getting worse and ballet alone wasn't enough to take the edge off. Fortunately, he had a back-up. Offering up a quick prayer that his father wasn't home, he slipped in and relaxed as he realized the man was out. Good. He didn't think he could handle another confrontation today without losing his temper. It was hard enough to keep a handle on as it was. The dark-haired teen headed up the stairs to his room and knelt down, once he reached his bed, to slide a long case out from under it. One of the advantages to being raised by the town smith was it offered him access to resources he otherwise wouldn't have. In this case, that resource was a familiarity with blades…specifically swords. He opened the case to reveal an old, dull longsword. It had been collecting dust in the corner of Charon's shop for years before he stumbled across it, and it was ideal as a practice weapon.

Like most boys, the dark-haired teen had engaged in mock sword fights with other children when he was young yet, unlike his peers, he took those childhood games to the next step. He started studying sword fighting for real. Prior to his sudden change of attitude, his adoptive father had offered him some pointers early on that had given him a firm foundation to work off of. The rest he'd built up from reading every book he could find that discussed sword fighting as a discipline. All those years of self-study paid off in that he figured he was at least semi-competent at basic swordplay. Then he realized he could combine it with ballet. He'd spent the last three years developing his own custom style that combined traditional sword work with his dancing. He didn't have a name for it, and honestly had yet to put it to the test, yet he persevered.

Fakir picked up the old sword and tucked it under his arm as he slipped back out of the house. The advantage to his custom style was that practicing it was an even more effective form of relieving stress than ballet was. Besides, it had been a while since the last time he'd picked up a blade. He couldn't afford to slack off. The dark haired teen made his way to the corner of the town's largest park that he normally practiced in. It was one of the few places he didn't have to worry about people finding him and freaking out that he had a sword. This had happened to him a few times in the past. 'They don't react to anthropomorphic animals all over the place,' he groused internally, 'Yet a teenager with a sword is _apparently_ a cause for concern. I used to help Charon in the forge before everything fell apart! I know how to handle a blade safely! Idiots…'

The young man sighed in exasperation as he stripped off his uniform jacket and removed the cravat from around his neck as well. He wanted as few restrictions as possible for this. Taking a deep breath Fakir held his blade up before his face in a salute before he started to work through his drills. He'd spent hours trying to imagine as many different combat scenarios as he could when he first started designing his practice routines. In his mind's eye, he envisioned a series of opponents charging to attack him as he moved. Slowly at first, then gradually increasing his speed until his blade hummed through the air with each strike. The green-eyed teen's feet ghosted across the grass as he leapt, spun, dodged, and wove his way through the imaginary hoard of foes after his life. Sweat soaked into Fakir's shirt and his hair started to stick to his skin as he started to pant lightly, yet he didn't stop moving. Not until he finished the last of the drills he'd created. He honestly hoped he'd never need to use these techniques he developed in earnest, but…it was best to be prepared. Finally, he finished the final drill and lowered his blade from the guard position he'd held it in with a heavy sigh.

'I've been slacking,' he admitted ruefully, 'I shouldn't be this tired just because of the added effort of swinging a blade around. I can't afford to let my sword work remain neglected like this. Not now…' The fact was that Fakir needed to increase the time he spent on practicing his swordsmanship, but his schedule didn't really leave much in the way of free time. It took too long to return to his home to retrieve his practice blade every time. The young man hefted his sword and idly wondered just how much trouble he'd get into for sneaking it into the dorms. He scoffed derisively at himself for even considering such a foolish course of action. That was a sure fire way to wind up getting himself expelled, and that was not an option. Mytho needed him, after all. Maybe if he raided the drama department for a prop sword after class… It wasn't exactly what he'd prefer to practice with as the balance on such weapons was a joke, but if that was what it took…

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a street organ playing nearby. Fakir frowned as the music slowly drew closer before a strange woman stepped out of the trees and smiled at him. "There is happiness for those who accept their fate," she said in a dreamy sing-song voice, "There is glory for those who fight against their fate." The dark-haired teen's eyes narrowed, "Who are you? What do you want?" "My name is Edel," the woman introduced herself before she looked at him closely and then nodded, "You are Fakir. You are the knight." He froze at that. "What," he demanded in a strangled tone, "How did you…" "The story is awake," she continued in the same dreamy tone, "After a long sleep. It is still sluggish, but will not remain so for long."

"You know about the story," Fakir's eyes narrowed menacingly, "How? Are you part of it somehow?" "The story must end," Edel ignored his questions as she continued in a suddenly firm tone, "This is inevitable. An unending story is cruel. But…the end is not yet set in stone." The dark haired teen was taken aback by her words. "It's…cruel," he wondered quietly as he looked down at his feet. When he looked back up again, the woman had vanished back into the trees. To be honest her words troubled him deeply. He had long been certain that keeping the story stalled was for the best. In all honesty, he still believed that. Yet now he wondered… Was it really cruel of him for him to insist that Mytho remain heartless forever? Was there no alternative? 'The ending is not yet set in stone she said,' Fakir considered, 'Does that mean…I can change our fates?' It would be nice if that were true. Still, this was something he'd have to consider in depth later. He'd been away from the dorms long enough and had to get back before his friend did something foolish. With a sigh, he picked up the rest of his uniform and headed back to his home to drop off his practice sword.

It was close to dusk when the young man made it back to the dorms. It had been a long day. He'd just barely managed to avoid Charon when leaving his home. Furthermore, Fakir was still tired from his earlier practice session, and was starting to get a bit sore. An evening of relaxing in his room sounded great. He still had to resolve the situation between Rue and Mytho from earlier though. His golden-eyed friend needed to know that he wasn't allowed to spend time with her anymore. He opened the door to their room and started talking, "Mytho! Stay away from Rue!" He cut himself off as he realized his friend was nowhere to be seen.

"Mytho," he called in a worried tone before he started to do a more thorough search. Maybe the other teen was in the bathroom. He knocked on the door and quietly called his friend's name, "Mytho, are you in there?" There was no response and he opened the door to find the small space was completely unoccupied. Fakir's unease grew as he headed for the corner of the room next to Mytho's bed and climbed on the window sill. Carefully balancing himself he reached for the panel in the ceiling and slid it to the side causing the ladder folded above it to drop down. There was a small tower directly above their room and that panel was the only access point. He swiftly climbed up the ladder and stepped off onto the landing directly below a short spiral staircase leading upwards. "Mytho, if you're up there answer me," he demanded as he ran up the stairs. However, when he reached to tower room it was just as empty as every other place he'd looked. This was bad. This was very, very bad. "Dammit, Mytho," Fakir ran his hands through his hair with a groan, "Where could you have gone at this time of night?" He spun around and raced back out of the dorms. He had to find Mytho!

It was after midnight before he finally found his missing friend standing in an old playground. The strange thing was Rue was also there sitting on the ground and looking up at the white-haired teen with a look of mixed shock and disbelief. "Mytho," Fakir called as he ran over to his friend, "Are you all right?!" Mytho looked up at him and the taller young man was stunned to see tears running down his face. "Mytho," he breathed quietly as he rested his hands on the shorter teen's shoulders, "What happened?" "He got a heart shard back," Rue told him tiredly as she slowly climbed to her feet, "The feeling of sorrow… I…saw it all." "Why didn't you try to stop it then," the malachite-eyed teen growled as he glanced back at her. "If I had Mytho could have died," the raven haired ballerina snapped before she slumped, "I couldn't…do anything…" The golden-eyed teen suddenly buried his face in his friend's chest and started to sob cutting all conversation short. "Mytho," Fakir's eyes softened as he wrapped his arms around his friend offering what comfort he could. He shot the burgundy eyed ballerina a look indicating they would be discussing the night's events later. Right now…right now Mytho needed what comfort he could provide far more than he needed answers. The trio of teens started to return to the dorms when they were interrupted by a shrill cry of, "Wait for me!" Rue's eyes widened as she turned, "Ahiru?!"

The green-eyed teen frowned as the red-haired girl ran over and beamed happily, "Ah, Rue-chan! You saved Mytho after all!" "Where did you go," the raven-haired ballerina scolded, "Why didn't you try to help?!" "But," Ahiru looked uneasy, "I'm not very good at ballet, and if you couldn't beat that ghost thing… I thought it'd be more useful if I tried to find somebody to help us… I'm sorry…" "What is she doing here," Fakir demanded to know. The blue-eyed girl glowered at him indignantly as Rue answered, "Ahiru was the one who noticed Mytho leaving the dorms earlier and was worried. I ran into her just outside the gates and we both ended up searching for him together. If it hadn't been for her I never would have known anything was wrong." Fakir gave the red-head a contemplative look as he listened. On the one hand, he was relieved someone had the sense to realize that Mytho wandering around alone was a bad idea and try to find him before he got into trouble. It was a sentiment he could appreciate. On the other…he _really_ didn't like how this girl kept getting herself involved. She didn't deserve to be trapped like they were! Still…she had tried to help. "You shouldn't be making a habit of this," he finally ground out, "But thank you." Ahiru gave him a startled look which he had to roll his eyes at. "I _am_ capable of showing gratitude when it is merited," Fakir stated flatly before he started guiding his tear-stricken best friend back to the dorms, "Let's go."

The quartet of teens walked back in silence and the entire way he could feel the red-head's blue eyes boring into his back as though he were a puzzle she couldn't figure out. He did his best to ignore it. Eventually, they made it back and the two girls went their separate ways. The dark-haired teen gently led his friend up to their room and directed him towards the bathroom to wash the tears from his face. In the meantime, he changed into his night clothes and sat heavily on his bed with a sigh. He was beyond exhausted. Mytho soon emerged and got dressed for bed himself without a word. The green-eyed young man gave a tired sigh as his friend lay down before murmuring quietly, "I told you earlier you didn't need a heart… Why didn't you listen?" The golden-eyed teen remained silent and Fakir let out another sigh before he said sternly, "We'll be talking about this later." He then lay back himself and swiftly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 **A/N:** Well, that was fun. I had fun making allusions to little things that I plan to build upon later. Fakir's inclination towards ruthless extremes when it comes to keeping Mytho safe. Why he's so good at fighting with a sword (particularly the display in act 13….EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! THAT WAS SO BADASS!) Fakir coming closer to admitting the fate he fears more than anything…for good reason (slow and painful deaths are terrifying.) Edel dropping the first batch of hints. Fakir showing Ahiru he isn't a complete jerk like she thinks and confusing the hell out of her in the process. Yeah… I made things a bit more complicated on that front. She is still going to be convinced he's a bad guy up until the events of act 10…but I'm thinking of giving her as many more glimpses at the fact that there is a decent person buried under his jerkiness as I can squeeze in to the narrative in the meantime to cast doubts on that conviction. Also giving more reasons for Fakir to not completely resent Ahiru before they join forces. He needs to have at least _some_ reason to like the girl otherwise their alliance doesn't work right. I may not get people, but for him to go to the lengths he does later on… Dammit, there needs to be something about her he has to genuinely appreciate and I am stacking up as many traits as I can without breaking canon! Not to mention I need to give _some_ reason for why he falls for her so fast later in the series… Why do I care so much about injecting realism into an anime about a duck who turns into a human who turns into a magical ballerina princess…? Meh, whatever. Doing it anyways. See you all next chapter.


	5. She Knows?

**A/N:** Ever onwards we doth go. Where the plot leads us? In this case…we actually know. Heh, I rhymed. Believe it or not, I actually write poetry sometimes on top of writing stories. Some of it is crap. Some is semi-decent. And some make me ask myself 'did I actually _write_ this?! It is way too good for me to have written this…' Much like my stories. This has nothing to do with anything really. ONWARDS TO THAT WHICH IS RELEVANT! So we reach the Fire Festival episode where our dear Ahiru blows the fact that she is aware that Mytho's heart is returning. We all know what her perspective on this was. Now we get to see Fakir's side. Oh, this is going to be fun to write… What is he going to be doing for the rest of the episode? Eh…still working that out. My writing style is mostly improvision if you haven't guessed already. I have very little planned out beforehand. Keeps things interesting for me. I like to be surprised by the path my story takes. In a situation like this, my options for surprises are rare. Still happens sometimes though. WHEEE! On another note, according to the time scale I worked out the Fire Festival occurs on the 26th of January. There is nothing really significant about this date beyond that is the day the math I did placed it on. Bleh…math… _**Present day edit: I am starting to**_ _**REALLY**_ _**hate that I can't respond to guest reviews individually via the PM system and I don't want to risk running afoul of site admin by responding to them in my notes… I want to ask more about what it was they liked specifically and thank them for reviewing my story… Not fair… I'm going to sulk while I edit this chapter to within an inch of its life…again…**_

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Princess Tutu. Though I am starting to suspect the whole series was tailored for people like me specifically… Tragic backstory for most of the characters? Check. Sacrifice as a theme? Check. Stories as a theme? Check. Fate and free will as a theme? Check. Classical music? Check. Characters I can't help but connect with? Check. And that isn't even getting into how obsessed I am with the Story Spinning power… Yep. Never had a chance to _not_ become obsessed with this series. I regret nothing.

Chapter 5: She knows?!

Fakir tried to track down Rue the next morning to talk to her about the events of the previous night, but she was proving to be annoyingly effective at evading him. He wasn't about to stop looking, though. One thing she'd mentioned last night had been bothering him…that Mytho could have died. This was not acceptable. First, he nearly falls to his death from their bedroom window almost a month ago only to be saved by the mystery ballerina who might have been this Princess Tutu character, and now he wanders off late at night to suffer another incident?! The golden-eyed teen had been in no shape to tell him anything then, and was still fairly dazed that morning. Getting a clear answer from him was just not going to happen, and as for that other girl, Ahiru as he recalled, Fakir had no intention of involving her. Besides, she hadn't been around for the whole thing, so there was no point. Rue was the only other person he could ask. If he could just _find_ the girl.

An annoyed growl escaped him as he turned towards the last place he could think of the check: the library. The raven-haired ballerina wasn't much of a reader and did not share Fakir's habit of researching things on his own. Hell, she'd spent the past three years teasing him about his default reaction to encountering something he didn't understand. She insisted it was a waste of time and that he was probably better off not knowing anyways. He disagreed; strenuously. About the only time _she_ would bother with research was when she was required to do so for class. Therefore, she rarely entered the building unless she absolutely had to. 'Still,' he reasoned as he walked in the doors, 'If her intention was to avoid me hanging around the last place anyone would think to look for her is a good strategy.' It turned out that he should have checked the library first for Rue was sitting in the back on the second floor at one of the reading desks. That in and of itself was strange enough since as far as he knew Mr. Katze hadn't assigned any research projects, but she had a book spread open in front of her. Her eyes were narrowed in intense focus as she studied the pages before her with a thoughtful frown on her face.

'Wait… Is she actually seriously trying to find something out for herself,' the young man realized in disbelief before frowning uncertainly, 'Why? She _hates_ doing research…' Fakir walked over slowly and Rue raised her head at his approach. "What are you looking at," he asked curiously. The raven-haired girl closed her book and stood as she dismissively replied, "Nothing, really. It has nothing to do with you." The malachite-eyed teen came to a stop behind her, glanced down, and frowned as he realized she had been reading 'The Prince and the Raven'. The very story that was influencing their town. "'The Prince and the Raven', huh," he observed suspiciously, "I see." The ballerina shot him a curious look, "What?" The dark-haired young man continued in a softly menacing tone, "So you've taken an interest in what Mytho was like when he was in the story. Mytho before he lost his heart." Rue closed her eyes as she retorted, "Are you suggesting that I'm the one restoring Mytho's heart?"

In all honesty he still wasn't sure about that, but he couldn't deny the suspicion was there. "Are you saying I'm wrong," he challenged evenly as she picked up the book and walked past him. Clearly she had no intention of answering, and he wasn't going to let her get away that easily. He reached out and grabbed her arm with a sharp, "Wait." In surprise, she dropped the book which fell to the ground and opened to a page somewhere near the middle on impact. Rue smirked at him and gave a soft laugh as though she knew something he didn't. Fakir glared in annoyance as he demanded, "What's so funny?" "What would you do if Princess Tutu was real," she asked mockingly. 'Could she be alluding to what had happened the night before,' he wondered. "Did something…happen," the green-eyed teen questioned warily. The burgundy eyed girl gave him a mocking smile, "No, nothing at all." She then started to laugh mockingly at his growing frustration with her uncooperative answers.

"Liar! I know _something_ happened to Mytho last night and _you_ were there," Fakir tightened his grip on her arm as he spoke causing her to wince slightly. "You're hurting me," Rue protested. "Then I suggest you stop playing around and _tell me what happened_ ," the dark haired young man hissed angrily. The raven-haired ballerina shot him a cold look before she sighed and nodded, "Fine." She then started to go over what she saw the night before. The taller teen listened intently as she spoke and only interrupted once. "You're seriously telling me Mytho was nearly drawn into the land of the dead by a ghost bride," he gave her a stunned look. The garnet-eyed ballerina nodded before she continued with her account, "I tried to challenge the ghost to save him, but you saw the state I was in when you showed up. I ended up collapsing and blacked out for a few seconds. Next time I opened my eyes…she was challenging the ghost."

"Princess Tutu," Fakir frowned darkly, "Then what happened?" "Somehow…I have no idea how… she soothed the bride's spirit. The next thing I knew the ghost had faded away in a red glow and she was holding the hand of a red spirit dressed like the Prince," Rue explained, "Before I could do anything else the spirit turned into a heart shard and she was walking over to Mytho." "You should have stopped her before she was able to return it," the dark-haired teen snarled. "You think I don't know that," Rue snapped, "I could barely move. All I could do was watch as the shard returned to Mytho and he started crying. She left, the mansion turned into the playground you found us at, and you know what happened after that."

Fakir swept his eyes across the raven-haired ballerina's frustrated expression and had to conclude she wasn't lying to him…this time. Princess Tutu not only existed, but was definitely responsible for returning Mytho's heart to him. Furthermore, it seemed he had been wrong to suspect the burgundy-eyed girl of being Tutu after all. The dark-haired teen gave a frustrated sigh as he released the ballerina's arm which she started rubbing with a dark scowl. "Sorry for accusing you of being Tutu," he muttered under his breath. "You're not even going to apologize for man-handling me," Rue accused bitterly. "Would you have told me the truth if I hadn't," he shot back coldly. She scowled at him and looked away in annoyance causing the taller teen to scoff, "I thought not. That was your own fault for being obstinate. I see no reason why I should apologize for that." Fakir watched as the raven-haired ballerina bent down to pick up the book and noted that it had opened to a page illustrating an old man telling a boy a story about a white clad maiden with wings. It was the part in the story where Princess Tutu was first introduced.

Fakir reflected on that character's role in the story as Rue stalked away to put the book back where she had gotten it. When he was younger he'd always felt sorry for her when he read the tale to his friend. He never got _why_ Mytho was so fascinated by her character as the end she met was almost as bad as that of the knight. To vanish in a flash of light the very instant she confessed her love for the Prince and perish… He wondered if she'd been aware of the consequences – the real Tutu from the original story – that would arise from confessing her feelings. Fakir frowned thoughtfully, 'To go through your life knowing that if you ever fell in love you would never be able to speak those words without dying… She must have been terrified… Does the current Tutu know what fate awaits her if she persists in her actions?' He scoffed as he concluded that she probably didn't, whoever she was. This new Tutu was clearly an oblivious fool at best…or a sadomasochist who got a sick thrill from her actions at worst. He didn't really care either way. 'I'll stop her regardless,' the dark-haired teen vowed as he glared out the window next to him.

Today was one Mr. Katze reserved for individual lessons for the advanced students, so the rest of them were free to spend the day more or less as they chose. Normally, Fakir would have spent it either putting in extra practice or keeping an eye on Mytho considering he'd had the luck to be the first on the schedule for the day. However, with the story definitely moving again and Princess Tutu being a confirmed threat…he intended to make good on his intent to practice his sword work. He slipped into the drama building and made his way stealthily to the prop room. He may not be a drama student, but its location was an open secret on campus…as was the fact that the lock was broken. The dark-haired teen was able to find a prop sword and slip back out again without being noticed. He wasn't sure if his skill at sneaking around unseen was something to be proud of or not, but it certainly was useful.

Fakir made his way to an isolated corner of the campus park to practice. As he'd suspected the balance of the prop sword he'd chosen was way off, but it was far better than any of the others that had been piled haphazardly in the back of the room. As he ran through his practice drills he idly wondered if it was normal for the other schools to be so disorganized, or if it was just the drama department. It didn't really matter either way, but he'd never claimed to not be a curious person. He wondered about things constantly when he wasn't worrying about Mytho. He blamed it on the fact that he read so much. Books made you question things. Fakir grunted slightly as he launched into a high flip before falling into the next stage of the move set. He was pushing himself harder than normal as he only had an hour to practice in. It was a self-imposed limit as he simply did not feel comfortable leaving his friend unattended for longer than that.

Once he finished his last set of drills, Fakir returned the prop sword and made his way back to the dorms to check up on Mytho. The shorter teen had remained behind that morning and had been reading when he left to go find Rue. He called out his friend's name as he opened the door, "Mytho!" he looked around and realized, once again, the white-haired teen had gone missing. He stared at the mirror covering the far wall as his wayward friend's name slipped out once more in exasperation, "Mytho…" 'Why must you keep _doing_ this to me,' he groaned internally as he felt a tension headache start to build, 'I just found out you nearly died last night! Are you _trying_ to give me a nervous breakdown?!' "And I told him not to leave without my permission," he hissed as he turned around to go searching _yet again_ for his missing friend. Fakir was seriously starting to consider locking the golden-eyed teen in a room for an hour or two as a punishment if only to get it across to him that these little _escapades_ of his were not okay. The idea had merit. Mytho would be safe. Nothing could get at him. Fakir could relax for a few hours. The idea was extremely tempting. He admitted it was a bit extreme, but his friend _had nearly gotten himself dragged into the underworld_ the night before! The green-eyed young man firmly believed, in light of this, that he needed to step up his efforts. If that meant resorting to extreme measures…then so be it.

Fakir returned to campus figuring that it was as good a place to start looking as any. As concerned as he was for Mytho's safety, he kept his searching slow and methodical. Rushing would not only potentially lead to him missing something, but would also draw attention from curious classmates. Classmates who would then ask questions he couldn't answer without risking getting them involved. That wasn't a chance he was willing to take. As he walked passed the ballet department he happened to glance over and a surprised noise escaped him as he spotted his missing friend in one of the practice rooms. His eyes narrowed as he realized he was dancing with that Ahiru girl from the other night. "Her again," he growled, "Damn." 'Why does she keep turning up like this,' he wondered as he swiftly made his way over to the main doors, 'She has _no_ idea how much danger she is putting herself in!'

He made his way for the practice room he'd spotted them in as fast as he could without drawing attention. As he drew near he was surprised to see the red-head waddling away from the door carrying cleaning supplies. She'd already left on her own which relieved him a bit. "She certainly does look like a duck," Fakir observed quietly as he watched her awkward progress down the hall. He was startled as she suddenly blurted out, "Quack! Cleaning!" The strange girl suddenly dashed down the hall and around the corner even as he tried to call out to her, "Hey!" Ahiru had already disappeared and he blinked slowly at her bizarre behavior before he scoffed quietly before heading in to confront Mytho over his actions.

"Mytho," Fakir addressed his friend coldly as she shut the door behind him. The golden-eyed teen gazed at him placidly, "Hello Fakir." The dark-haired teen narrowed his eyes as he stalked over, "Don't give me that! Why did you go out without my permission!?" Mytho just looked at him uncomprehendingly as his taller friend stopped in front of him. The agitated teen took note of the old-fashioned clothing his shorter friend was wearing and realized his friend was likely planning to go to the Fire Festival that evening. He'd almost forgotten about it with everything that had been going on. He nearly scoffed before he continued derisively, "What's the meaning of this? Dressed up in this ridiculous outfit…" "Rue told me to wear them," the shorter teen looked down at his clothes before looking back up at his friend. The last thing the green-eyed young man wanted to hear about after the morning he'd had was Rue. He was still annoyed with the girl. "Listen up," he snapped harshly, "All you have to do is listen to what I tell you to do. Don't listen to what anyone else tells you! That includes what Rue says!"

He didn't want the raven-haired ballerina anywhere near Mytho at this point. Fakir noted his friend looking away and downwards slightly and felt a twinge of concern. "You were dancing just now, weren't you," he questioned in a slightly gentler tone. "Yeah," the white haired teen replied quietly. "What's with that duck-like girl that's been scurrying around lately," the dark haired young man wondered aloud. He wasn't expecting a response and blinked in surprise when his friend corrected him with a quiet, "She's called Ahiru. Her name is Ahiru, so…" The malachite-eyed teen actually remembered her name, oddly enough, but he honestly didn't care right then and said as much. "I don't care about that," he cut off his friend with a sharp hand gesture before he continued, "There's no need to dance with her just because she asked you to."

Fakir was caught off guard when Mytho corrected him quietly, "That's not what happened. Rue didn't show up, and I've been waiting by myself… And then, Ahiru came, so…" The shorter teen trailed off as his friend stared at him in disbelief. 'Please tell me he didn't,' the dark-haired young man pleaded within his head before asking incredulously, "You're telling me that you asked her?!" "Yeah," his white haired friend confirmed in his normal quiet tone. The taller teen barely managed to suppress the flinch triggered by the surge of horror that raced through him at that admission. Was he _trying_ to get that girl hurt?! Or worse?! 'Dear God, she could wind up getting _killed_ because Mytho is too damned careless,' he raged internally, 'I have to stop this before he draws her into things any further!' Fakir lunged forward and grabbed the shorter teen roughly by the collar and shoved him against the wall as he snarled, "Listen to me! Don't keep making me repeat myself! All you have to do is listen to what I tell you! Don't take an interest in such worthless things!"

Mytho wouldn't look him in the eyes and the green-eyed young man dropped his voice to a low hiss as he continued tearing into his friend. "You can barely take care of yourself as it is! Have you forgotten how we even _met?!_ When you were wandering without any memory," he glared, " _I_ was the one who gave you the name Mytho! I saved you back then!" He drew back as his golden-eyed friend finally looked at him and responded, "I know." Fakir's glare intensified as he gave his next order, "Don't go to the Fire Festival. Got it?" The white-haired teen looked away again and the taller of the two gently brushed his hand through his friend's feathery white hair to at least _try_ to show he wasn't as much angry as he was deeply concerned. "It's for the best you remain the way you are now," he reminded the formerly emotionless teen as his hand came to rest on the other's cheek. "But," Mytho murmured as he raised his head slightly, "Rue wants me to dance with her…" "Forget about her," the dark haired young man ordered coldly. Yet, foolishly, the shorter teen continued, "If I'm not going…I have to tell her."

Fakir could not believe his friend wasn't getting the message that he _didn't want him to go anywhere_ _ **near**_ _Rue_! His eyes narrowed menacingly as his voice dropped back to a low hiss as he demanded, "Are you defying me?" Mytho looked back at him and shook his head slightly, "No, but…" The taller teen had reached the end of his patience. "Come," he demanded harshly as he grabbed his friend's forearm. 'If this is what I have to resort to in order to keep you safe,' the dark-haired young man thought in bitter resignation as he pulled the shorter teen along behind him as he left the room 'Then so be it. Rue might not be Tutu, but she is still dangerous. I can't let you near her, and I can't let you near anyone else. Not when the story's starting to move. This is the only way I can be sure that everyone will be safe!' "Where are we going, Fakir," the golden-eyed teen questioned as he followed docilely. Fakir didn't answer as he continued down the hall and the other teen tried again, "Hey…Fakir…" "It doesn't matter," the green-eyed young man ground out tersely as he pulled open the door to the main hall, "Just follow me!" He shut the door firmly behind them and resumed his trek to the destination he had in mind.

On his way to campus Fakir had been considering locations that would work as temporary confinement for his wayward friend, and he was heading for one of them now. Specifically, one of the store-rooms in the back of the campus library where old books that rarely got checked out were kept. The doors of those rooms locked from the outside, and there was only the one door leading in or out. The only other way out of those rooms were windows set high in the walls, and he doubted Mytho was motivated enough to try to escape that way. The malachite-eyed teen had to admit he wasn't entirely happy that he had to resort to these measures so soon, but he couldn't afford to take chances. Not with his friend's safety and the safety of all the other townsfolk at stake.

'The story may have awakened,' he reflected on the strange woman…Edel's…words from the other day, 'But I should be able to return it to dormancy. I have to…' Mytho tried talking to him once more as they reached the library doors, "Fakir, why are we going to the library." Fakir didn't answer as he continued dragging his friend behind him; the white haired teen would see soon enough. Finally, they arrived at the back rooms. The dark-haired young man finally released his shorter friend and gave him a stern look as he ordered, "Wait here and don't move." The golden-eyed teen nodded placidly and remained in place as the taller teen checked the doors in the corridor at the back of the library. He eventually found one that was unlocked and opened it. The green-eyed young man nodded in satisfaction. This room would be prefect.

Fakir returned to where his friend waited, grabbed his arm once more, and firmly led him into the room. "Fakir," Mytho told him as the taller of the two released his grasp, "I need to tell Rue I can't go with her." "You will do no such thing. Stay away from Rue," the dark-haired young man ordered firmly, "She's dangerous." The golden-eyed teen gave him a look of complete incomprehension and he sighed in frustration. "You are going to stay right here in this room until I come for you," he ordered before frowning slightly, "Is that clear?" The white haired teen looked confused, "Yes, but…" The irritated young man backed out of the room and moved to shut the door as he gave one last order to his clueless friend, "You just sit in there quietly." "Why," Mytho finally asked. "It's punishment," Fakir replied evenly before grasping the doorknob to pull it shut. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad, Fakir. I'll do as you say," the golden-eyed teen offered which made his friend hesitate momentarily before he resumed closing the door ignoring the rest of the teen's plea, "When you're not here, Fakir, I…"

The green-eyed young man shut the door cutting off the rest of his friend's words and locked it. In truth, this wasn't _entirely_ about punishing the other teen though he couldn't deny the thought had crossed his mind that it was a fitting reward for the damned headache he'd been putting up with this entire time. It was more about buying him time to come up with a more effective way to make it clear to Mytho that he couldn't keep acting as he had been. Wandering off on his own, spending time around Rue, and leading on that strange duck-girl… It had to stop! Maybe he'd get lucky and locking him away for a bit would drive the point home for him. He could dream… He was shocked out his thoughts by a shrill cry from the end of the hall, "What are you doing?!"

Fakir turned to look and felt a twinge of dismay as he realized it was that duck-like girl again. "What is this punishment," she yelled at him with her hands on her hips, "Why would you do such a cruel thing?!" She suddenly ran forward and shoved him away from the door as hard as she could. Caught off guard from her actions, his reflexes failed him and he let out a grunt of surprise as he fell backwards. He landed hard on the floor behind him and started to roll over to get back to his feet as the girl continued to ramble, "And Mytho, you too! Why?! Rue's waiting for you!" He ignored most of it until she blurted out something that made him shoot her a sharp look even as his chest tightened in fear at the implication of her words, "You've finally regained some of your heart shards!"

He surged back to his feet and lunged forward to grab her as she continued to rant, "There's no reason for you to listen to someone like him!" Fakir latched on to her wrist causing her to cut off what she was saying and stare at him as he glared harshly into her stunned blue eyes, "Heart shards, you said?" She made a small frightened noise as he leaned closer and demanded, "You're Ahiru, right? Just what do you know?!" Ahiru looked away uneasily as she replied, "What… Nothing, really…" The dark-haired teen thought back on their interactions and realized something, "Come to think of it, you were asking about 'The Prince and The Raven' before, weren't you?" She looked back at him in surprise as he started to wonder…just how deeply had this girl gotten herself entangled without his knowledge?

Fakir's glare intensified as he questioned her in a low tone, "You know that Mytho is the prince from the story, don't you?" Her eyes widened which was all the answer he needed and he scoffed, "Hmph. Rue talked, did she?" He remembered that the two girls had been oddly friendly last night and he wouldn't put it past the raven-haired ballerina to involve the poor girl purely to spite him. Ahiru just stared at him in wide-eyed shock, and the dark-haired teen decided he'd make sure she got the hint that there was no _point_ to restoring Mytho's heart…even if he had to be cruel about it. He roughly grabbed both of her wrists and shoved her hard against the opposite wall as he loomed over her much smaller form. "Mytho has no need for a heart," he snarled coldly. The girl looked surprised at this words before she scowled at him and shot back disbelievingly, "What? He doesn't need a heart… What are you saying? That can't be true!"

"And just what do you know," he snapped back viciously causing her to cringe before he continued harshly, "I know everything there is to know about Mytho. What are you saying that _you_ know?" Ahiru had tears welling up in her eyes as she responded sincerely, "Well, I…I don't know anything about Mytho, but if he has no heart he won't know what it feels like to be happy or to be in love, either! That's why…" "Foolishness," Fakir cut her off harshly as he glared down at her, "Even if he regains shards of his heart, I'll seal them away! If I shut him away in the darkness he'll eventually become numb to the dark as well. He'll become numb to all sensations and stop feeling all together." The girl's gaze had turned increasingly horrified and upset as he spoke and she finally burst out, "That's…That's just wrong!" She started to cry and he had to suppress the twinge of guilt that stabbed through him before he responded coldly, "You're pretty puffed up for someone who knows nothing." He released her wrists and walked away doing his best to ignore her faint whimpers.

Fakir sighed heavily as he left the library. That Ahiru girl was an idiot, but he couldn't deny that she was truly compassionate. Rue had probably recognized that about her, and that was why she'd told the girl about Mytho's condition. Someone as kind-hearted as that idiot would automatically assume that the prince getting his heart back would be a good thing. He still vaguely remembered their encounter outside the dorm when he had first realized that she was a genuinely nice person. He doubted he'd ever fully forget it. Such characteristics were rare among his friend's fan-girls and it had stood out. Each following encounter drove that realization home even further. Ahiru was a nice person and, as such, did not deserve to get tangled up in this damned story. As much as he felt like a complete heel for it, he would continue to treat her harshly because it was the only way he could drive her away…even though he acknowledged that she didn't truly deserve such cruelty. 'I care too much,' Fakir admitted to himself as he walked across campus, 'Even though I tell Mytho such things are pointless…I am just as bad when it comes to my desire to protect people. We just go about it in different ways. He actively tries to save people and I…I do my best to scare people off before they fall into the same trap I did.'

Fakir decided to return to the boy's dormitory to wait out Mytho's punishment rather than hang around campus. He just wasn't in the mood to be around people. As he headed for the dorms he was surprised to hear the sound of a street organ once more. The dark-haired teen looked up to see the strange woman from the day before walking towards him as she turned the handle on the side of her instrument. He stood and waited patiently for her to approach. "Hello, Fakir," she greeted in her dreamy voice. "Edel," he replied neutrally, "What do you want?" "Solitude brings peace to many a soul, and to others it brings pain," she stated dreamily, "Yet is it truly solitude itself that brings about this pain…or something more." An annoyed sigh slipped out of him at her cryptic statement, "Are you trying to make some kind of point?"

"You are in pain," she observed bluntly. He gave her an annoyed glare, but didn't deny it. "I wonder," Edel mused, "Do you suffer because you are alone?" "I have Mytho," he retorted testily. "Yet he is the source of your suffering," the woman pointed out, "Is he not?" Again, the young man really couldn't deny this and he scowled bitterly. "What are you trying to get at," he demanded impatiently. "If there were someone else who could share your burden," the pale woman gazed at him inquisitively, "Would you accept their aid?" "Like who," Fakir asked bitterly, "There's no one else who I can trust to keep Mytho safe. No one else who truly understands what's at stake." "Understand, no…not just yet," she smiled mysteriously, "But trust…certainly. If you are willing to reach out." The dark-haired teen's scowl deepened, "Not interested." Edel shook her head sadly, "Then you will continue to suffer." "Fine then," he snapped as he shoved passed the female organ grinder and continued on his way. It wasn't as though suffering wasn't something he was unused to, after all.

Fakir spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in his dorm room brooding. He hated being a jerk to Mytho, he hated the mocking way Rue treated him, he hated the look in Ahiru's eyes as he tore into her, he hated how miserable the actions he was forced to take made him feel, and – while he didn't _quite_ hate her – he _really_ resented Princess Tutu for making everything change. It was maddening! He rubbed at his temples in a vain attempt to relieve the pain pounding behind them. The green-eyed teen was pretty sure his tension headache had evolved into a full migraine by this point. He groaned as he buried his head in his arms which were resting on his drawn up knees. This was just not a good day for him. He remained curled up against the mirror wall until he heard the evening bell on campus start to chime. 'I should probably go check up on Mytho,' he realized as he glanced at the clock on the wall, 'He's probably hungry…and it _has_ been several hours. He's been in there alone for too long…'

The dark-haired young man sighed heavily and slowly got to his feet. He was just so ready for this day to be over already. Pretty much the only hope Fakir had left was that tomorrow wouldn't be as frustrating. 'Better' was a subjective term in his life. There was pretty much only 'stressful' and 'marginally less stressful'. The stressed out teen made his way out of the dorm and headed towards campus for the third time that day. On the way he stopped by a café that was open late for the festival to pick up a tray of food for Mytho. The shopkeeper was reluctant to let him take the tray out of the shop, but the green eyed young man promised to return it and she relented. The shorter teen had missed lunch, so Fakir bought extra food. It wouldn't really make up for keeping his friend locked up for so long, but it was the best he could offer as an apology.

The malachite-eyed young man arrived at the library to find it was completely dark. He wasn't all that surprised considering the Festival was already in full swing in the town center. He was probably one of the only students other than Mytho who hadn't bothered to attend…though he hadn't really given his friend much of a choice in the matter. Fakir sighed quietly as he approached the back room he'd locked the white-haired teen in. Maybe he had over-reacted a bit, but he couldn't help getting scared about the consequences of his growing loss of control over his friend's actions. It felt like the more heart shards the golden-eyed young man got back, the more willful he became …and that terrified him. He didn't really have much of a back-up plan in place for when his words could no longer keep the other teen safe. It was something he'd have to work on. In the meantime, though, it meant the more control he lost the more afraid he'd become…and the more extreme his means of dealing with that fear.

Fakir banished these thoughts as he unlocked the door and opened it. He expected to see Mytho huddled up against the stacks and was stunned to find the room empty with a broken window setting lying in the middle of the floor. He felt a surge of anger as he realized he had most likely _vastly_ underestimated how the return of even a few heart shards had increased his motivation. "That bastard," he growled darkly as he glared into the dim shadows. The wayward teen had most likely slipped out of the window and gone in search of Rue…who was most likely waiting at the Festival. At least this time he had a solid idea of where to look. "Dammit," he snarled as he shut the door behind him and glanced down at the tray of food in his hands. Of course, now he had to work out what he was going to do with this. It's not like he could carry it with him as he searched. He sighed in annoyance as he realized his best bet was to head _back_ to the dorms… _again_. "This is _such_ a pain," the dark-haired young man grumbled before letting out an agitated sigh, "Mytho… Why can't you just _listen to me_ for once… Is that really too much to ask for?"

The Festival had ended by the time he reached the main square and caught sight of Rue standing alone watching everything be taken down. She looked upset, and Fakir was still feeling bitter enough over what she'd pulled earlier – avoiding him, mocking him, and telling that Ahiru girl about Mytho – to feel that she deserved it. She turned to leave when suddenly she stopped and looked surprised. He watched as the formerly missing white-haired teen walked up to her and started to dance with the girl. Normally, the dark-haired young man would have just stormed over the second his friend appeared and drag him away, but there was something…different about him. Malachite eyes narrowed as their owner's mind raced furiously to pinpoint what had changed. 'Emotion,' he suddenly realized with a start, 'His dancing…there's emotion in it now! Did he get another heart shard back?! Is that why he escaped?!'

Fakir's fists clenched in frustration as he continued to watch the two other teens. There was no doubt in his mind about it. Mytho had regained another piece of his heart. Suddenly, Rue pulled back with a frightened look on her face. The green-eyed young man realized she must have just noticed the same thing he had, and was apparently not happy about it. 'Good,' he scowled as he watched her back away slowly, 'Maybe now she'll realize that this isn't the time for her petty games at my expense. This is a serious situation we're in and her flippant attitude is only going to make matters worse…' The raven-haired ballerina suddenly fled leaving a confused Mytho standing alone as Fakir looked on from the shadows. He waited for his friend to turn and walk in his direction before he suddenly stepped out in front of the errant teen with a dark look on his face. "Fakir," the golden-eyed teen looked surprised to see him, "What are you doing here?" The dark-haired young man only glared furiously before he turned and walked away. The white haired teen hesitated a few moments before the sound of his footsteps told the taller of the two his friend was following meekly behind.

The dark-haired young man held the door to their room open for his room-mate and waited for him to enter before he followed. He shut the door firmly behind him before stalking menacingly towards the other teen now standing by the window. "Fakir," Mytho sounded uneasy as he spoke, "What…" "I could have sworn I told you," Fakir hissed darkly, "To stay in that room, did I not?" "You did," the golden-eyed teen confirmed. "I also recall," the taller young man continued as he stopped standing just abreast of his friend, "Telling you to stay away from Rue." "You did," the shorter teen repeated. Abruptly, the enraged teen spun around, grabbed his friend's wrists, and shoved him back against the window much as he had with Ahiru earlier. "Then why is it when I come to let you out I not only find you gone, but in the company of the _exact person_ I told you to avoid as soon as I _find you_ ," the green-eyed young man shouted angrily.

Mytho's eyes widened for his taller friend had never truly shouted at him before. "Do you have any idea _why_ I felt it was necessary to lock you away," Fakir hissed venomously, "Do you?!" "No," the shorter teen replied meekly. "It's because you _keep doing things like this_ ," the dark-haired young man snarled, "You keep wandering off! You keep disobeying my orders! I can't keep you safe if _you won't listen!_ " His friend's golden eyes were wide in surprise as the taller teen suddenly lowered his head and slumped slightly in exhaustion. "You're my best friend, Mytho," the malachite-eyed young man whispered tiredly, "I don't want anything to happen to you…" 'Because I care about you,' he admitted to himself as he pulled back and turned away, 'I care about you and I sworeI'd protect you. I know it didn't matter to you in the slightest…but you still accepted my oath back then and I consider myself bound even now.' "I'm going to bed," he muttered exhaustedly, "I just can't take anything more today…" Fakir was completely unaware of the look of concern that crossed his friend's face as he walked away.

 **A/N:** I suck at being cryptic. Writing for Edel is going to be a challenge… I actually had to pull out my quote book for inspiration on her little cryptic intro this chapter! Yes, I have a book of quotes. It's about three, maybe four, inches thick. Very useful as a reference. So a lot more happened this chapter than I was expecting. I could recap…but I won't. You all read it, so there is no point in me going over everything. I tried to give a little more insight into how Fakir is handling the changes his friend is going through…or not handling them as the case may be. I also tried to show that he really doesn't enjoy being a jerk all the time. He's a nice person deep down. We know this. Yet he also feels it is the only way he can keep innocent people out of the story's influence. This causes conflict. Which is why he is such an interesting character; internal torment! Complexity! Yay! Also, as noted above, it is his second encounter with Edel…who I struggle to write for…damn her. As much as I love her character I am going to be _so_ relieved when I get to the end of the first season. No more cryptic writing! I think I kept everybody in character pretty well for this chapter. I'm going to be re-reading this several times before it ends up being posted, so if I find anything I don't like I have ample time to change it. I rabidly self-edit everything I write. I'm a perfectionist. I admit it. Poor Fakir, though… He is just so miserable at this point… His life kind of sucks, doesn't it… Admittedly, I'm not helping with that by elaborating on what the show's writers only hinted at. But making his life a living hell is just so much _fun!_ Stop being fun to torment, Fakir! Just stop it! My self-control isn't that great at resisting such things… It's your only hope… **Present day edit: And in spite of my rabid editing habits things still slip passed me sometimes… So many little things that managed to get by… All minor edits in both this chapter and the last one…yet the fact that I have to do this at all bothers the inner perfectionist. Should be better…**


	6. Return of Fear

**A/N:** We are finally getting to the point in the story where events start to progress in a very short sequence. In short, the pace is about to pick up…a lot. This is probably my last chance to fit in another major time skip for a while. Have I mentioned that I love how vaguely defined the capabilities of the Story Spinning power are? I can't resist playing around with the degree of influence it has over reality. For example, remember how in the end notes of chapter 2 I mentioned that the reason the weather is all spring-like in the middle of winter is because of Drosselmeyer's manipulation? He can do that because the entire town is basically isolated in a pocket dimension. If it is powerful enough to warp space-time sufficiently to send a good sized town out of phase with everywhere else then it is powerful enough to mess with the weather. That is my logic. It's kind of scary when you think about it… A power like that…is one _hell_ of a responsibility. Even a minor error could cause _so many_ bad things to happen. Makes me glad I don't have any powers like that. I just have autistic brain. Right, on to the chapter! Italic text block is indicative that what is being described are the events of a dream!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu and I never will. Though I will give its actual owners all of my money if they release a third season that continues the story. Seriously. Take it. Take it all!

Chapter 6: Return of Fear

It had been almost a week since the night of the Fire Festival. Mytho had not wandered off once in that entire time and Fakir wasn't sure what to think of that. On the one hand, he was grateful that he didn't have to worry as much and could actually relax somewhat. On the other…he was pretty sure the only reason for this was that the last heart shard to be returned had somehow restored his friend's ability to care about other people. The dark-haired young man wasn't entirely happy about that. Yes, it was making his life easier…but the price wasn't worth it. The more heart shards that were returned meant the story would become _that much harder_ for him to stop. That wasn't a risk he was willing to take, so – as much as he appreciated the break – he resented that it was because Mytho's heart was returning to him. Fakir sighed as he opened his eyes and glanced over towards his friend's bed. He wasn't in it, but he noticed that the ladder leading up to the tower was extended. The golden-eyed teen must have gone up shortly after he woke up and was probably still up there. This hypothesis was confirmed once the green-eyed young man also noticed his room-mate's uniform was still folded on the chair where he'd left it the night before. His white-haired friend was up in the tower. The dark-haired teen sighed and slowly got out of bed to call his friend down. They had class today, after all, and according to the clock on the wall they had best start getting ready soon.

Fakir glanced over as he reached the top of the stairs to see his friend leaning on the open windowsill and gazing outwards as he neared the top of the stairs. "You're awake already," he asked curiously. "Fakir," Mytho greeted quietly without turning. The taller young man noted that the other seemed oddly tense and frowned before asking gently, "What is it?" The white-haired teen turned to look at his friend as he wondered aloud, "How do I feel about you, Fakir?" The question startled the dark-haired teen as he focused directly on his shorter friend. 'What,' he wondered uneasily, 'is that supposed to mean?' He listened intently as the golden-eyed teen continued, "When I think about Rue, when I think about you, and when I think about Tutu each brings different feelings, but I don't know what those feelings are. Tell me, Fakir, is it all right for me to not know that?" Malachite green eyes narrowed as his friend asked his final question and their owner walked forward with a sharp, "Don't think about such worthless things." Mytho looked uncertain as he tried to continue his line of thought, "But…" "Listen, you're just a useless good-for…,"Fakir interrupted as he drew near and reached out to grab his friend's chin, but he cut off the rest of what he was going to say when he felt a soft tremor coming from the shorter teen. "You," the dark-haired young man asked in concern, "Are you trembling?"

"I feel a bit cold, I guess," the golden-eyed teen admitted with a vaguely confused look. Fakir relaxed slightly at this admission, though he was a bit irritated at the same time. "How long have you been standing here with the window open," he demanded as he moved his grip from his friend's chin to his shoulder. "Um," Mytho hummed uncertainly before he replied, "I don't know. A minute?" A minute exposed to the chilly morning air would make anyone cold and start to shiver slightly as the body attempted to warm itself back up. "Moron," the dark-haired young man sighed as he released his friend, "If you start feeling cold then shut the window. Don't just leave it open." "Okay," the white haired teen nodded slightly. "Come on," the taller of the two sighed again, "Let's head back down stairs. We need to get ready for class." "All right, Fakir," the shorter teen agreed as his friend moved next to him. The placid young man headed for the stairs as his taller friend watched for a few seconds in concern.

Mytho normally was fairly good about reacting to stimuli like heat and cold. He didn't just _stand_ there and let himself get to the point that the temperature started to physically affect him. 'Was it because he was so focused on trying to work out these new feelings those heart shards gave him,' Fakir considered with a worried frown, 'that he didn't even notice? The list of drawbacks just keeps getting longer…' "You really are better off without these worthless emotions," he breathed quietly as he turned to close the tower window. Once it was shut he headed back down into their room to make sure his golden-eyed friend was actually getting ready and hadn't drifted off into useless thoughts again. Fortunately, his worries were unfounded for once and the other teen was already half dressed. The green-eyed young man allowed a relieved sigh to escape before he started getting changed into his own uniform.

As the two young men made a quick stop at the Fakir's usual café for breakfast on their way to campus, the dark-haired teen reflected on the past several days. There had been no new appearances by Princess Tutu, nor had his friend had any new heart shards returned in that same amount of time. While this was not a bad thing, as far as the green-eyed teen was concerned, it didn't make him any less concerned about when this mysterious ballerina would make her next move. He'd been using the down time to try and work out who she was when not hunting heart shards. The problem was he had never seen her himself, and so had no clue as to what she even looked like. All he had to go off of was what he knew about her character in the story which wasn't much. She was a maiden of peerless grace and beauty, he recalled, who was an exceptionally talented ballerina. She loved to dance almost as much as she loved the Prince, and could soothe the hearts of others with her dancing. She was desperately in love with the Prince, although he had never known of her feelings, and had tried her hardest to support him up until she died. She was dressed in a white ballerina costume that called a swan to mind.

Unfortunately, that was all the detail the story gave on her character. It did give Fakir something of a baseline to work off of, though. Since the role required that she be attracted to the prince, Princess Tutu was most likely one of his friend's admirers, and was probably enrolled in the ballet school since she would be guaranteed to encounter him more frequently if she was in the same department. The problem was that still left him with _fifteen_ girls as potential suspects, and he didn't have many options for narrowing down his list. He couldn't exactly _ask_ them if they were Tutu. For one thing, there was a good chance most of them would have no idea of what he was even talking about, and he did _not_ want to deal with the questions they would ask. For another, whichever girl _was_ Tutu probably wouldn't tell him if she had any sense. If he could just get Rue to tell him more about her encounter with Princess Tutu he'd at least have an idea of what she _physically_ looked like, but that was a whole other set of problems all together.

Rue was, put quite simply, a major hindrance at the moment. They may both agree that Mytho was better off _without_ a heart, but she seemed to have no interest in working to prevent the return of further heart shards. Hell, with the prince's emotions now returning to him her habit of encouraging him to say he liked her was more of a liability than ever before. That was why the dark-haired teen had made the decision to forbid his friend from spending time with the girl outside of class. As much as he hated to admit it, there was little he could do to prevent those interactions. Still, even minimizing the time the two other teens spent in close proximity was better than nothing. Rue's ability to influence Mytho during classes was limited, after all. Fakir was willing take what he could get in this case. However, the raven-haired girl had told the dark-haired young man flat-out at their first meeting that she wouldn't cause him any problems so long as he didn't interfere with her intentions for Mytho. Cutting off her time with the golden-eyed teen was definitely classified as interference and she was making good on her old threat.

Much to Fakir's frustration, the incident at the Fire Festival had not been enough to dissuade the girl from her petty games at his expense. She dropped little hints that she knew more than he did about what was going on and then slipped away before he could interrogate her. She shot him mocking little smiles during class when he couldn't act without tipping off the rest of his classmates that something wasn't normal. She'd hover around Mytho every chance she got which, again, he couldn't do much about because of _where_ she tended to do so. The girl would come up to his friend between classes or during lunch when numerous other students were around, and just act like a normal girlfriend. He couldn't exactly interfere without drawing attention to his actions. Considering his behavior tended to come across as being _extremely_ jealous and the _last_ thing he wanted was to provide fuel to the rumors about his feelings for the white-haired teen…he couldn't do much aside from glare disapprovingly. If he _ever_ learned who started the rumor that he was romantically interested in his friend it would _not_ end well for them. Finally, and the most worrying of all, Rue had gone so far as to tell that idiot Ahiru about Mytho's condition and risked her safety purely because she knew it would annoy him. So far, she had not bothered to involve the duck-like girl again which Fakir considered to have been a _very_ good thing.

He sighed heavily as he reflected on his handful of encounters with Ahiru. If there was anyone _less_ deserving of being caught up in matters he couldn't think of who they might be. Fakir couldn't honestly say he liked the red-head because he didn't exactly know her; he didn't hate her either, though. He _did,_ however, think she was a bit on the slow side with her inability to get the hint to _stay away._ She kept waving 'hello' to the golden-eyed teen during joint classes, smiling at him, and generally acting as though she was trying to become friends with him. The duck-like girl _clearly_ had no idea just how dangerous a position that was to be in. Admittedly, he couldn't really expect her to. It wasn't as though it were common knowledge that becoming the white-haired teen's friend was a sure-fire way to get snarled in the coils of the tragic story told in 'The Prince and The Raven'. No one would believe it anyways if he tried to tell them…which he wouldn't. Ignorance was the best defense in this case.

Still, Ahiru was easily the most innocent person Fakir had ever encountered – barring Mytho – and was also the only fangirl to genuinely _care_ about his friend. That alone made her worth protecting in his eyes. He didn't have to _like_ her to want her to be safe. He idly considered that _she_ might be Princess Tutu before dismissing the idea with a self-deprecating smirk. She barely had any idea of what was going on and he just couldn't believe that the girl who was Tutu would be _that_ clueless. Ahiru was a naïve idiot, and far too curious for her own good, but nothing more than that. He wasn't concerned about her as a threat to Mytho…only as a threat to herself. It was for her own good that she keep her distance from his friend, and the dark-haired teen would do whatever he had to in order to drive her away. Even though it made him feel horribly guilty afterwards. He really wished he knew why she inspired that reaction. Fakir didn't normally regret the lengths he had to go to in order to drive people off beyond a minor twinge from time to time. Yet each and every interaction he had with the girl left him feeling like an absolute heel afterwards. It was extremely frustrating. The young man sighed as he and his friend encountered another group of students chattering about something or other. Their racket made it hard for him to concentrate on his thoughts, so he abandoned them for the moment.

Mytho actually seemed to be listening to the chattering students, so his taller friend reluctantly paid attention as well. Apparently, a touring ballet company called the Eleki Troupe was going to be putting on a performance of the Sleeping Beauty ballet while they were in town. Several of the students had fliers and were speculating over whether they would get a chance to see the show. By the time they reached campus, the dark-haired teen realized the entire student body had heard about the upcoming performance and it was the ballet students who showed the most interest. Personally, Fakir wasn't all that interested, but he could see why the other students might be. They didn't exactly have many opportunities to see professional dancers perform. In his case, as much as he may enjoy ballet, it was basically a means to an end for him. He had a sneaking suspicion that practice for the day was going to be side-lined in favor of giving the students a chance to see what a real ballet company was like. Even as he got changed into his practice clothes and headed for the main lesson room he couldn't shake that feeling.

The dark-haired young man led his shorter friend up the stairs to the main lesson room as he did his best to ignore his classmates' chatter about the visiting ballet troupe. They'd either get the day off to check it out or they wouldn't. There was no point in speculating about it as far as he was concerned. He wasn't all that surprised to see that all the classes were present that morning as it was a joint practice day. They weren't waiting long before their feline instructor strolled in moments after the two teens had. The cat-man moved towards the front of the room before clapping his paws together twice, and the chatter immediately died down. "Attention please," he called, "Will the advanced and intermediate classes make their way to the balcony overlook. I have an important announcement to make." Fakir rolled his eyes, but didn't hesitate to follow his classmates as they headed for the stairs. To his relief, Mytho stuck close by and didn't wander over by Rue. The two classes separated themselves upon reaching the landing and spread out along the wooden railing to look back at the floor below. Mr. Katze nodded once he saw all of his students were paying attention and began to talk.

"As you all know," the anthropomorphic feline stated clearly, "The renowned Eleki Troupe is in town for the week and will be performing Sleeping Beauty. The Dean of Ballet put in a request to the Headmaster of the Academy for the students enrolled in his school to be allowed the chance to see a professional ballet company perform first hand, and I just got word this morning that this request has been authorized. All lessons have been cleared for the next five days, though the first performance of the ballet isn't until tomorrow. The Dean put considerable effort into arranging matters so that we may get as much out of the experience as possible." Fakir sighed in annoyance as Mr. Katze paused to take a breath. 'Called it,' he grumbled in his head. Honestly, he'd rather spend the time practicing instead of seeing some show. The feline instructor continued after clearing his throat, "And so, today we have received special permission for both the boys and girls to observe the Eleki Troupe's rehearsal. This is a chance for foreign ballet to touch you and hopefully supplement your growth…" The dark-haired teen blinked as the feline abruptly cut off and glanced down to see what had made him stop.

An amused huff of air escaped him as he realized that a certain, duck-like red-head had been late and was trying to sneak in by worming her way across the ground…before she ran into the teacher's feet and interrupted his announcement. That girl had the worst luck… The dark-haired young man frowned as he tuned out on the interaction going on between Mr. Katze and Ahiru and instead focused on the upcoming trip. He doubted attendance mattered on this pointless excursion, but his friend _had_ been good about staying out of trouble. The taller teen figured that a chance to see a professional ballet company perform was as good a reward as any… He just had to make sure it was safe first. As the teacher started to enter a spaz fit in reaction to _something_ the red-head had said Fakir addressed his friend, "Mytho, go back to the dorm." "Okay," Mytho agreed. At least this way he could check things out without having to worry about his friend getting into trouble. 'There is no such thing as being _too_ cautious when Mytho's safety is in question,' he thought as he observed matters down below, 'Not with my luck…' It took the cat-man a full minute to re-compose himself somewhat before he dismissed the class. "Meet at the Academy Main Hall once you've changed," their instructor directed in an oddly strained tone, "We'll depart from there once everyone has gathered."

Fakir relaxed considerably once Mytho left for the dorms. The one upside to the return of that last heart shard was that his friend was far more inclined to obey his orders…for the moment. He wasn't willing to count on that remaining the case if more of his heart was returned. As the dark-haired teen waited by the Academy's Main Hall for the rest of the ballet students to assemble, he allowed his mind to wander a bit. He was still trying to come up with a back-up plan for when his words failed to be enough to keep the white-haired teen safe from the story's influence anymore. It had occurred to him that, since it was the return of the prince's heart that was starting things up again, maybe removing it would cause the story to grind back to a halt. The difficulty with that idea was that there was only one way he knew of that could be accomplished…and he wasn't entirely sure it would work. 'The Prince's sword removed his heart safely once,' the dark-haired teen mused, 'That much I know for a fact… I just don't know if it would work so well if I were the one to be wielding it.' There was also the issue where the sword had lost whatever power it had years ago…not to mention the fact that Charon had taken and hidden it in the catacombs under the town around the time his behavior had changed.

The latter issue wasn't much of a problem since Fakir knew exactly where the sword was hidden. He'd tailed the man when he'd taken it away and followed him down into the tunnels. Charon hadn't even known the then 11-year old had been present as he stashed it in an old stone tomb. The green-eyed young man also knew the ritual needed to restore power to the blade, but that – in itself – was what he considered to be the biggest problem with this idea. The particular ritual required could potentially backfire on the one performing it…fatally. Admittedly, the only reason he knew about it in the first place was because of the old smith.

His younger self had been exposed to the more occult side of the profession because the man had once had a great fondness for recounting old legends about all sorts of things. Charon had mentioned the ritual once, and Fakir had been driven by curiosity to learn more. He'd found a book that covered the process in detail, and had been fascinated by what he'd read. In all honesty, he never expected that he'd need to use that knowledge, but it had stuck in his memory nonetheless. Now it was actually useful. Life was funny that way. This did not make him any less uneasy about using the ritual, though. 'Maybe I can convince Mytho to use the sword to remove his emotions,' Fakir considered with a sigh, 'Once I restore power to it. Then again…if I make even a _single_ mistake…Mytho would be left entirely defenseless. Damn…maybe I should have the sword be my last resort…'

Soon enough, the rest of the students gathered and Mr. Katze turned up in his casual clothes. Fakir had to raise an eyebrow in surprise at the cat-man's choice of clothing. A tropical print shirt and shorts of all things… He knew the feline instructor was eccentric, but it was still an odd choice… 'Most people would choose to wear something a bit fancier before going to the theater even if it is just to watch a rehearsal,' he mused before shrugging dismissively, 'Well, whatever makes him happy, I guess.' He noticed that the teacher still looked a bit dazed from his interaction with Ahiru as he called for the students to follow him, but didn't dwell on it much. His attention had swiftly been drawn by the slight grin on Rue's face as she followed the rest of the students. It made him uneasy, and he spent most of the walk trying to work out what she could be up to. The only thing to snap him out of it was a sudden yelp coming from near the front of the crowd of students as they were approaching the theater the Eleki Troupe were going to be performing at. Fakir looked up and stared as he saw Ahiru flying through the air. 'How the hell did she manage that,' he wondered as he followed her trajectory back towards the ground. He blinked as she was caught by a tall, black-haired woman standing just outside the theater. Maybe he should reconsider if the red-head had _bad_ luck and not, as was now seeming more likely, _strange_ luck.

The woman introduced herself as Paulamoni the prima ballerina for the Eleki Troupe. It came as no surprise to any of the students when Mr. Katze immediately started to dance in elation after shaking her hand…nor was his reaction of crushing despair when the ballerina introduced her husband Paulo. The black-haired woman led them all into the building and introduced them to the stage crew and her fellow dancers. While the rest of his classmates immediately started asking questions and marveling over all the costumes and set pieces, Fakir merely looked on passively. He was more interested in determining whether or not it was safe for Mytho to attend the performance the next day than anything. It wasn't the theater that concerned him, but the troupe members. He listened in on his classmate's conversations up until the start of the actual rehearsal and had to conclude that they were not likely to pose a threat. In fact, about the only thing of interest was the fact that the supposed leader of the troupe was an electric eel. Fakir noted that most of the troupe seemed vaguely confused as to whether their leader had always been an eel which screamed of the story's influence to him. Still, the troupe leader being an eel wasn't dangerous. Just strange. The dark-haired teen concluded that about the only potential risk for Mytho was the fact that Rue seemed to be up to something. Then again, she could just be plotting another attempt to get back at him for his interference. Either way, he was pretty sure he could handle whatever she was planning.

Fakir didn't pay much attention to Paulamoni's dancing during the rehearsal. He had returned to trying to work out which of the female ballet students was most likely to be Tutu. He was fairly sure it wasn't Rue after the account she'd given last week, but…he still wondered about that. 'Could Rue be Princess Tutu…,' he wondered before sighing quietly and admitting to himself, 'Probably not. She's been just as vocal about Mytho not needing to change as I have for as long as I've known her. Hell, she even panicked when he smiled at her after they danced that night. If she were Tutu I'd expect her to be more elated to see her efforts were paying off. I suppose it _could_ have been an act, but she had no idea I was watching at the time. So her reaction was most likely genuine. That still leaves the question of just how much she actually knows about Tutu, though.' He vaguely registered the rest of the class suddenly starting to murmur about _something_ that had happened on stage, but didn't really know what it was about. Honestly, he didn't care enough to bother paying attention. He was more focused on trying to puzzle out just what the raven-haired ballerina knew.

'She's the only one other than Mytho to have actually _seen_ Tutu that I know of,' the dark-haired young man conceded, 'So I know _she_ knows what this mystery ballerina looks like. I know she was reading the prince's story the day of the Fire Festival. Could she have been reading up on Tutu? That would imply she doesn't know as much as she pretends. But what if she wasn't? What if she actually has some idea of who Tutu is, and is keeping it to herself out of spite? I wouldn't put it past her.' Fakir was snapped out of his thoughts by a joint scream from where the rest of the class were sitting. "What the," he muttered in confusion as he watched both Mr. Katze and that Ahiru girl freak out about something. He stared as the duck-like girl bolted for the back of the theater while the anthropomorphic feline started saying something about how she couldn't do…something. 'Just what the hell did I miss,' the dark-haired teen wondered before sighing dismissively and sinking back into his thoughts. The rest of the rehearsal passed without further incident, so there was nothing to distract him. He eventually returned to trying to eliminate his friend's admirers as potential candidates for being Princess Tutu. Unfortunately, he once more ran into the road block caused by the fact that _he had no idea what she looked like_. He was ultimately forced to admit that he couldn't really eliminate _anyone_ aside from Rue.

Fakir broke off from the rest of class to make his way back to the Academy after leaving the theater. The young man planned to spend the rest of his afternoon both practicing his swordplay and practicing his ballet forms. He was finally nearing a level of aptitude with his sword-work that he could consider acceptable. He didn't get as tired and his body was slowly memorizing the drills he worked on. He was close to the point that, if he did have to fight, he wouldn't even have to think about how to react; his body would just move. That was the level of muscle memory retention he was after. As for his ballet practice, that went about as smoothly as it always did. The one hiccup came about as a result of his growing exhaustion. By going straight from practicing his swordsmanship to his equally intense ballet practice routines he had pushed his body completely passed its limits.

He was just landing from a grande jete when he stumbled and nearly fell to the ground before he caught himself. The dark-haired teen had to take a break to catch his breath and allow himself to recover a bit of stamina before resuming practice. "Am I pushing myself _too_ hard," Fakir wondered aloud as he leaned against the barre before shaking his head dismissively. He only pushed himself as hard as he felt he could tolerate and if his body didn't like it then it could learn to deal. It was close to sunset when he finished both practice sessions and got ready to return to the dorms. The work out he'd put himself through turned out to be so intense that – even after his sweat had dried – his hair was sticking to his skin. "I need a shower," he grumbled as he pulled some of the strands free and flicked them away.

Fakir returned to the dorms to find his friend had, once again, spent the entire time he was gone hanging around the room without pants. The tired teen barely suppressed an eye twitch as he sighed, "Put some pants on, Mytho." "Hm," Mytho glanced over and gave a faint smile as he noticed his friend standing there, "Hello Fakir." The dark-haired young man had to suppress another twitch at both smile and greeting. While this reaction to his arrival had become an increasingly regular occurrence since the night of the Fire Festival, he still wasn't used to it. "I'm taking a shower," he announced as he did his best to ignore the twinge of unease such greetings still caused him, "You. Pants on. Now." "Okay," the golden-eyed teen agreed as his taller friend headed for the bathroom after grabbing a change of clothing. Fakir quickly stripped off his school uniform, stepped into the shower, and turned on the water. He sighed in relief as the warm water relieved some of the ache that had built up in his muscles from the exertion of his dual practice sessions. He didn't linger though and briskly washed the sweat from his hair and body before shutting the water off. He grabbed a towel to dry off while doing his best to ignore his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't entirely successful and he scowled every time he caught a glimpse of the massive scar-like birthmark that ran diagonally across his torso. He knew _exactly_ what it represented and these days he increasingly resented the constant reminder.

The dark-haired young man emerged from the bathroom clad in his night clothes and groaned in annoyance as he realized Mytho had ended up removing his shirt as well. And had opened the window as well. "Didn't I tell you to put on pants," he grumbled as he looked away from his friend. "I did," the white-haired teen defended passively, "I got hot. So I took them off." "And the shirt," Fakir asked as he turned back with an irritated look on his face. "I got really hot," the other teen replied evenly. 'At least he left his boxers on,' the green-eyed young man conceded internally, 'That's a relief. I do not want to see a naked Mytho anytime soon. Just…no.' The taller teen moved over to the open window as his friend burrowed under the sheet on his bed. "Now what are you doing," he sighed as he glanced over. "I'm cold now," the other replied. The dark-haired young man gaped at his friend who stared back at him with a placid look on his face. Sometimes Mytho made absolutely no sense with his actions. Even after eight years of being exposed to the golden-eyed teen Fakir still got caught off guard from time to time. This was one of them. Fortunately, he swiftly recovered and gave an annoyed sigh before turning back to the window. "You idiot," he grumbled as he stared out across the dorm lawns. They remained silent in their positions for a good three minutes before the green-eyed young man spoke again as he shut the window, "Mytho." "What," the white-haired teen asked in a tone that was almost curious.

Fakir turned to walk back towards his friend, "Go and watch the ballet tomorrow." "I can go," Mytho wondered with a tilt of his head. The dark-haired young man continued sternly, "However, don't listen to what Rue tells you. "Okay," the white haired teen nodded with a faint smile. "I'll go with you," the taller of the two concluded evenly, "Hurry and go to sleep." The faint smile on the other teen's face widened, "Thank you, Fakir." Malachite green eyes widened in surprise at being thanked. The golden-eyed teen had never bothered to do so before in the entire time he'd known him. As nice as the sentiment was he wasn't entirely comfortable with it.

The only _reason_ his friend was thanking him was because enough of his heart had returned to allow him to care enough to do so. Yet at the same time the show of gratitude sent a warm feeling racing through his chest. Fakir honestly wasn't sure how to react so he went with his default response. "Moron," he huffed as he looked away awkwardly. Mytho gave his taller friend a confused look at that before smiling slightly again and getting himself settled under his covers. The dark-haired teen walked over to douse the lamp and crawl in bed himself. He was just getting settled when his white-haired friend spoke up quietly, "Good night, Fakir. Sleep well." The green-eyed young man hesitated briefly before he responded, "Good night…Mytho…" He didn't think he'd ever get used to these changes affecting his friend, and he didn't entirely want to. The golden-eyed teen didn't _need_ a heart…right?

The dark-haired young man's sleep that night was not an easy one. He was troubled by increasingly unpleasant nightmares as the night went on. _Fakir was surrounded by darkness in every direction as he stood alone. "Fakir," a voice called out to him weakly. "Who's there," he called back warily as he looked around. "Fakir," the voice called again. The teen started to walk slowly through the endless blackness. A mist began to swirl up from the ground and he could hear faint screams and cries in the distance. Unnerved by this he started to move even faster. "Fakir," the voice called from nearer this time, "Why…?" The mist grew thicker until it was all he could see; nothing but mist and shadow. Still he moved onwards as the voice continued to cry out his name over the building cries of pain and anguish in the distance. "Fakir, why did…," it called once more plaintively. "Why what," the green-eyed teen wondered aloud as he started to jog. Still the cries in the distance built until he could almost identify some of the voices. A light started to shine ahead of him as the voice practically sobbed, "Fakir, Why did you…?" "Why did I what," Fakir called back in irritation, "Who are you?"_

 _The light suddenly flared brightly and he staggered to a halt as he raised his arms to shield his eyes. When it faded he froze in horror at the sight that met his eyes. It was Goldkrone…in ruins. There were corpses strewn everywhere across the ground and ravens perched on the edge of every building. "What," he breathed weakly, "What happened…?" "Fakir," the voice whispered from right behind him and he turned slowly to see who it was. A strangled gasp escaped him at the sight of a bloodied, hollow-eyed Mytho gazing back at him with tears running down his face. "Why did you fail me," his friend whispered brokenly before collapsing limply to the ground. Fakir tried to catch him, but the bloodied teen's body fell through his arms as though he were made of smoke. The dark-haired teen could only watch as his friend fell to the ground and lay completely still. His injuries had claimed his life just as he finished speaking._

 _Tears started to well up in his eyes as he looked passed his friend's broken body and he noticed a dark form crumpled on the ground by the shattered remains of a fountain. Slowly he walked over to see what it was, yet when he could make it out he started to hyperventilate. "No," he gasped as he looked upon his own body lying in a pool of dried blood…riven in two, "Please no…" Yet he could not deny what he saw. His corpse had clearly been lying there for well over a day…which meant he had fallen long before any of the other victims of the slaughter that had taken place. He_ _knew_ _that it had been his death, his failure, that had led to this bloodbath. Everyone he knew and loved had died horribly because_ _he had_ _ **failed**_ _. "No," he screamed._ Fakir gasped sharply as he shot straight into a sitting position before hunching over and starting to pant heavily. Slowly he brought up his right hand to cover his face as he panted and shivered from the sheer horror of the most persistently recurring nightmare. "Not that dream again," he whispered as he tried to get his breathing under control, "That's right! It was just a dream… It didn't happen! I didn't fail…" He shuddered and wrapped his arms around his torso as he squeezed his eyes shut, "I _can't_ fail… I just… _can't_!"

"Fakir," Mytho asked drowsily from his bed, "Are you all right?" "Fine," the dark haired young man replied shakily, "Just a nightmare." "Okay," his friend replied sleepily before rolling over and going back to sleep. Fakir gave a shuddering sigh as he looked over at where his friend slept. He really did envy how the white-haired teen's sleep was always nightmare free. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he didn't lose sleep to those terrible dreams. Still, it was better that he be the one to suffer such things than his innocent friend. A large part of the reason the malachite-eyed teen was so against the return of his friend's heart was that he didn't want him to lose his peaceful nights. "That's why I have to stop this story," he breathed quietly as he watched his slumbering friend. 'I should try to get some more sleep,' he sighed tiredly as he let his upper body fall heavily back onto his mattress, 'Even though it probably means even more nightmares. God, I hate this…' Fakir closed his eyes and breathed in and out once deeply before he did his best to relax. Sleep was slow to return, but his dreams were far milder – though some were still disturbing enough to make his sleep restless – and the rest of his night passed without incident.

The next morning was entirely uneventful as the two teens got dressed, grabbed breakfast, and met up with the other students at the Academy before heading for the theater. To his annoyance, once everyone took their seats, Rue had snagged the seat on the other side of Mytho. Fakir shot her a sharp glare which she stubbornly ignored and focused entirely on the stage. The dark-haired teen breathed out sharply and turned his own attention to the performance. Things went smoothly enough until shortly after the lead ballerina's husband called for a short break. Somehow the black-haired woman managed to talk Mr. Katze into getting that Ahiru girl up on stage to dance. Why she would do this was beyond him, particularly since the girl clearly didn't even want to be up there. 'Is this what I missed yesterday,' he wondered as he watched the red-head have a whispered conversation with their instructor.

"Say Mytho," Rue suddenly spoke causing both young men to look over at her, "Why don't you be her partner for the pas de deux?" Fakir frowned as he wondered, 'Why would she even suggest that?' He noticed the obvious enthusiasm that lit up the duck-like girl's face as she overheard the raven-haired ballerina's suggestion, and it clicked with him. This was yet another attempt by the burgundy eyed girl to use Ahiru to tick him off. By placing her in danger. Deliberately. 'Like hell,' he snarled mentally. "No, Mytho will not do," the dark-haired young man countered coolly, "I'll go." The open displeasure on Rue's face at his interruption made it difficult for him to suppress a triumphant smirk at thwarting her little scheme. Not to mention he could use the pas de deux as an opportunity to try, once more, to _persuade_ the red-head to keep away from his friend.

It didn't take Fakir long to get changed back stage and soon enough he was standing next to Ahiru. He firmly took her hand as they both took up the starting positions for the pas de deux. Even this early on it was clear the girl was lacking in skill as she was wobbling visibly as she tried to hold the starting pose. The dark-haired teen glanced towards the audience to observe Rue's reaction to his presence yet she seemed oddly composed. 'Rue, what are you thinking,' he wondered uneasily before returning his attention to his current partner and started to lead her through the dance. She really wasn't good at it, but that was to be expected considering she was in the beginner class. Still, it gave him an excuse to start talking to her as they danced. "Hmph," he muttered quietly as they drew close at one point, "How pathetic." She made an irritated noise back at him, but otherwise didn't break her form which he had to concede was fairly admirable. "I'll take this chance to make this clear to you," he continued quietly. "What," she whispered back. "Stay away from Mytho," he ordered firmly He swept her into the next move as she hissed back to him, " _You_ stay away from him!"

He scoffed quietly at that before leading her through the rest of the dance. It was far too late for him, but she still had a chance to save herself if she would only _listen_. The dark-haired young man remained silent even as he held her slight form over his head in the final pose of the routine. She really was delicate and he was somewhat surprised by how light she was. Fakir had to admit she hadn't been a terrible partner for all her inexperience, but he couldn't tell her that. Not without risking compromising the point he was trying to make. With yet another twinge of guilt, he released her abruptly and stepped back with a quiet, "You're an eyesore." He turned to walk away, but glanced back as he heard her faltering steps on the stage. He'd expected her to fall on her face, but she'd apparently managed to save herself at the last moment. However, the pose she wound up in was absolutely ridiculous. 'I suppose she has some potential if she can save herself from a fall like that,' Fakir shook his head slightly as he turned away once more, 'Even if her recovery still needs some work.'

Fakir hurriedly got changed back into his uniform and returned to his seat. There was no _way_ he was leaving Mytho alone with Rue any longer than he had to. The white-haired teen smiled faintly at him as he sat back down which made the taller young man cringe slightly. He was never going to get used to that. Soon enough the black-haired ballerina retook the stage and resumed her performance. Yet only a few minutes passed before he noticed a faint red glow coming from his friend's chest. 'What the,' he wondered as the other teen idly brought his hand up to the spot, 'What on Earth is _that_?' Seconds later the golden-eyed teen let out a blood-curdling scream and shot to his feet while clutching that same spot. "Mytho," Fakir cried out in concern. "A piece of his heart's been returned," Rue blurted with a worried look on her face. "What," the green-eyed teen gasped as he stood himself.

Mytho had not stopped screaming this entire time and the other students were looking frightened. "Everyone," the feline instructor ordered in an attempt to keep the others from panicking," stay calm!" However, the other students were clearly growing increasingly anxious. He'd have to act fast to get the hysterical teen _out_ of the theater before a panic started. The dark-haired young man carefully gathered his friend into his arms and cradled him gently before firmly informing Mr. Katze, "I'll take care of him." The anthropomorphic feline nodded gratefully, "If you're sure you can handle it." "I am," the young man replied as he turned to leave. He ran swiftly out the doors as the white-haired teen continued to scream desperately. The shorter teen clung desperately to his friend and started to whimper. "Hang in there, Mytho," Fakir looked worriedly down at his friend before a dark glare crossed his face as he looked back up, "Damn you, Princess Tutu!"

Mytho continued to shake and whimper in his arms as Fakir ran back towards the dorms before, as he reached one of the many bridges crossing the river that snaked through town, his whimpers changed to frightened sobs. The dark-haired young man slowed as he realized there were words mixed in with the sobs and stopped in the middle of the bridge. "Mytho," he murmured quietly, but he other young man kept his face pressed to his taller friend's chest. The taller of the two sighed and lowered himself to his knees before gently setting his friend down. "Mytho," he repeated calmly as he held the shorter teen to his chest in a loose hug, "You need to calm down." The white-haired teen continued to sob and shiver in sheer terror as he clung desperately to his friend, "I'm scared, I'm scared." "Calm down," the green-eyed young man reinforced his early words as he tightened his grip before continuing in a more comforting tone, "It's all right. There's no one here but me." Mytho continued to whimper in terror as his taller friend looked down at him in concern, "What is it? What are you afraid of? Tell me."

The other teen was silent for a few moments before he quietly admitted, "Tutu." Fakir's eyes widened in surprise as his friend continued, "I'm afraid…of Princess Tutu… I'm afraid of Princess Tutu!" This was honestly the last thing the dark-haired young man had expected to hear his friend say. "I won't let her hurt you," he promised quietly, "I swear it. She will never lay a hand on you again. I'll keep you safe." Slowly the golden-eyed teen's shivering calmed and he looked up at his friend with wide eyes, "You will?" Mytho looked so very young and vulnerable in that moment that the green-eyed teen was honestly taken aback, but he still smiled gently down at his friend. "Always," he replied, "No matter what. You're my best friend, Mytho. Your safety means more to me than anything." 'Even my own life,' he admitted internally as his friend buried his face in the taller young man's chest once more, 'I will _not_ fail you. Not now. Not ever!'

 **A/N:** And that's the end of this chapter which ended up being far longer than I was expecting. Holy crap… I mean, a whole six paragraphs was basically plot-relevant exposition showing that Fakir a) was already trying to work out Tutu's identity in spite of having no idea what she even looked like, b) is having serious difficulties with Rue leaning towards open antagonism, and c) does sort of care about Ahiru in a remote sort of way. This had to go in. I just wasn't expecting the rest of the chapter to be so damned long. I enjoyed writing out Fakir's nightmare, and, yes, this is the same nightmare as the one he had in the first chapter. Just giving you a slight taste of just how bad they can be. He's got some serious issues to work through. There is _no_ way losing his parents the way he did when he was a kid didn't give him some form of PTSD! Add in his severe overprotective tendencies, his intense sense of responsibility, and his fear of failure….and you get the nightmare I came up with. Basically, in Fakir's mind, if he ends up getting killed…then _**everybody dies**_. Gives you some idea as to _why_ he is so willing to go to extremes to avoid this. Also he just plain does not want to die. Can't blame him really. He _is_ only 15. That's a bit young to have a death sentence hanging over your head…then again it has technically been hanging over his head since he promised to protect Mytho when he was a kid. Maybe even since he was born, though he probably didn't work it out until after meeting Mytho… It's not surprising that he has problems when you think about it in that sense. _He grew up_ _ **knowing**_ _he was going to die horribly if the story ever started again_. Poor Fakir… As for the ritual he's worried about…those of you who have actually watched the show know what I am talking about. I imagine there are some serious risks involved in something like that. My reasons for thinking so are pretty simple. It involves blood as a component. I don't really know all that much about the occult. Most of my experience is from observing a good friend of mine who identifies as a witch. What I have picked up is this, though: _any ritual that involves the caster's blood as a component has a chance of backfiring badly on the caster if something goes wrong_. I also know that there is a strong equivalency between blood and life force. I've read Dracula…multiple times… IT'S A GOOD BOOK! Therefore it stands to reason that this backlash from a failed ritual…could be potentially lethal. That is what Fakir is afraid of. The ritual could kill him if he gets any part of it wrong. At least, that's my headcanon. **Present day edit: the big edit of this chapter was that I realized – sometime after posting this chapter for the first time – that I had used the word 'apparently' twice in the same sentence. I have no idea how that slipped by me, but it needed to be fixed! Now it has been. I feel better now…**


	7. Enter the Raven

**A/N:** This episode has very little Fakir screen time, so I am going to be making most of the events up. Might slip in another Edel encounter. Might slip in more sword practice. Might have him do some reading. Who knows, really? I kind of enjoy episodes like this oddly enough. It gives me a chance to play about more with Fakir's character. Italic blocks still mean dreams. Not much to say this time so let's get started, shall we?

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Princess Tutu. I do own a Mokona plushie. And a couple of Darth Vader plushies. Yes, those actually exist. What was I saying…? Meh, whatever.

Chapter 7: Enter the Raven

 _Fakir opened his eyes to find himself standing in a mist shrouded forest. A sword hung at his waist and he was clad in a knight's regalia. He could vaguely make out two figures in the distance and started walking towards them. As he drew closer he realized one of the figures was backing away from the other and felt a thrill of concern shoot through him. He started to run and soon the retreating figure resolved into the form of his best friend. The other figure remained mostly indistinct, but he could make out a white ballerina's costume that was vaguely reminiscent of a swan. "Princess Tutu," the dark-haired knight snarled as he drew his sword. The ballerina danced away from the charging knight and held back far enough that the mist continued to obscure her features from his sight._

 _The young knight took up position between Mytho and the mist-shrouded ballerina with his sword in a full guard position. "I won't let you hurt him anymore," he hissed viciously. The ballerina only raised her hands to cover her face in a mime of absolute sorrow and turned away. Fakir hesitated at this before he froze as his friend spoke up behind him. "Then why is it you who hurts me the most," the prince asked bitterly. The dark-haired youth turned to look back at the other teen that had turned his back on him and was walking away. The knight tried to pursue, but was cut off by a cloud of ravens that swarmed up from the ground. "Get out of my way," the young man snarled as he swung his blade at the bird-shaped monsters. Yet all his efforts gained was the ravens suddenly turning to attack him and he staggered back under the assault._

 _Desperately, he tried to fight back but it wasn't long before all he could see was an endless wall of black feathers and evil red eyes surrounding him. Their caws sounded like derisive laughter as their razor sharp feathers, beaks, and talons slipped through his guard and tore into him. He continued to fight on in spite of the apparent futility of his actions. Suddenly a terrible, ripping agony shot through him and he collapsed with a choked scream as everything went black._ Fakir's eyes shot open as he lurched into a sitting position with a strangled gasp. Mytho sat up with a look of concern on his face as he tentatively reached out to place his hand on his friend's shoulder, "Are you okay, Fakir? You're shaking." "I'm fine," the dark-haired young man replied unconvincingly as he pressed his hand to his right shoulder. "You're not," the white-haired teen's concerned look deepened. The other young man shook his head and sighed, "It was just a nightmare. Don't bother worrying over it. Go back to sleep, Mytho." The golden-eyed young man frowned at his taller friend, but didn't press the issue as he lay back down and closed his eyes. Fakir watched him drift off into slumber with a worried frown plastered across his face.

The two teens had spent the last week holed up in the old millhouse in the aftermath of the return of Mytho's heart shard of fear. The old mill was draughty and lacked any heat source aside from an old wood-burning stove. In order to keep from freezing at night, Fakir had pulled down a pair of large mattresses from the attic and set them up right next to each other. If either of the teens got too cold they could huddle up against the other for warmth. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable of hideouts, but it was safe and nobody could legally object to them staying there. The building, the actual watermill next-door, and the land it was built on technically belonged to the dark-haired young man. The property had been owned by his parents before they died and the deed had been formally turned over to him when he turned fifteen. He just had never done anything with it before now.

Yet even after a week of isolation, Mytho had not fully recovered from the shock of the heart shard's return. He startled awake at the slightest thing and what sleep he did get was often riddled with nightmares. Fakir absolutely _hated_ seeing his friend in that state, but there was nothing he could do about it save to stick close and offer what comfort he could. The only times he left were to restock on food. Furthermore, the taller teen's own nights had grown increasingly restless. He barely got any sleep thanks to his nightmares and spent many of his nights wide-awake watching over his friend. It was running him down, but he would endure it. Mytho was relying on him after all, and he would not fail to keep his promise just because he was a bit tired.

That last nightmare had been the third consecutive one Fakir had suffered in that one night alone, and he was coming to the conclusion that this might just be one of those nights where he didn't sleep at all. Every time he closed his eyes his subconscious would find some new horror to torment him with, and what sleep he _did_ get was not at all restful. He was going to try at least once more, though. However, instead of attempting to go right back to sleep, the dark-haired young man figured he may as well sit awake for a bit and give himself some time to calm down. He didn't really have much else to do aside from watch Mytho sleep, though. It was far too cold to go out, and Fakir couldn't exactly practice his sword-work for two reasons. One – it would wake his friend up and two – he didn't have a sword to practice with. Practicing ballet was out because that would _also_ end up disturbing the slumbering teen. Reading was also out because light was something that would awaken the sleeping one. He knew all of this because he had tried early on in the week on his first sleepless night. Mytho had woken up and questioned him every time, and Fakir felt horribly guilty for unintentionally interrupting his friend's rest when the other teen had been suffering from his _own_ nightmares. The one mercy was that the white-haired teen seldom suffered more than three a night and they were scattered at broad enough intervals that he wasn't suffering as his taller friend was.

The fact that Mytho was even suffering at all was still absolutely _infuriating_ for the dark-haired teen and he knew _exactly_ who to blame for it: Princess Tutu. 'Damn her,' Fakir thought with a dark glare aimed at the ceiling, 'Who does she think she is?! Mytho was just fine the way he was. Yes, he wasn't happy, but he also wasn't in _pain_. These emotions that she keeps returning…can't she see what she's _doing_ to him?! How miserable they make him?! They aren't worth it!' He groaned quietly as he allowed his head to fall forward and he wrapped his arms around his knees as another thought occurred to him. 'Then there's the effect his returning heart has on the story,' the dark-haired young man considered, 'The more shards that are returned the faster it picks up momentum. Nothing much may have happened _yet_ , but it's only a matter of time before _that creature_ starts to get involved. I can't allow things to reach that point! Because otherwise…'

Fakir shuddered slightly as he reflected on the many nightmares he'd suffered covering that exact scenario. 'Otherwise…Mytho will have to fight again,' he admitted, 'And I…I could…' His hand slowly crept up to clutch at his right shoulder as he breathed out quietly, "I could die… I don't want to… Not like that…" 'But then,' the green-eyed teen gave a resigned smile, 'I knew that could happen when I promised Mytho I'd protect him…as his knight. I knew…and I made that promise anyway. He's worth risking my life for.' The dark-haired young knight turned to look down at where his friend slept and whispered, "You were my hero when I was a child… You who gave so much to protect so many… How can I not do everything in my power to do the same for you when you are so broken and helpless?"

The dark haired young man eventually dropped off after another hour or two of keeping an eye on his friend. However, he was awakened by yet another nightmare shortly before dawn. By that point there was no reason to bother trying to get anymore sleep even if he was still a bit tired. Instead, he got up and briskly got changed into an old blue shirt with a torn sleeve, a pair of black pants, and black shoes. The shirt was actually his favorite and he wore it whenever he could get away with it…which wasn't often these days. Once he'd changed he returned to the mattresses where Mytho slept and sat back down. He paused before sitting, though, to make himself a pot of tea to drive away as much of his lingering drowsiness as he could. His friend continued to sleep peacefully, and Fakir hoped that meant that the grip of the newly returned fear was weakening and that it would soon fade into dormancy. Yet that hope was dashed not long after sunrise when Mytho awoke with a terrified scream. "Mytho," The young knight leaned over and gathered his friend into his arms with a worried frown, "Get ahold of yourself, Mytho!" The white-haired teen had broken out in a cold sweat and was breathing hard with a look of sheer terror on his face.

The young knight felt a twinge of despair shoot through him once more at seeing his friend so distressed, "Mytho… What's wrong?" The golden-eyed teen looked up at him and spoke shakily, "Fakir… I had a dream. There was a big black being and it…took me and…" This had been a recurring theme in the other teen's nightmares that gave his taller friend a bad feeling. "Don't worry," the malachite-eyed young man soothed. "Who _was_ that," Mytho asked uneasily as he looked down and away. That was one of many questions the dark-haired teen refused to answer. Ignorance, in this case, truly was bliss. "Don't let it bother you. You don't need to know anything," Fakir told the shaking young man gently as he slowly stood, "Got it?" He intended to grab his friend some warm tea. He'd learned from experience that the warmth had a strong calming effect on the white-haired teen, and he also seemed to enjoy the taste of the tea as well. It worked well to dispel the lingering fear of his nightmares. However, his trek to the leftover tea in the pot he'd left on the table was interrupted by a sudden, and unexpected, question from his shorter friend.

"Where's Tutu," Mytho asked as his taller friend walked across the room. The white-haired teen had not asked after the magical ballerina _once_ the entire week, and the sudden curiosity was startling. Fakir hesitated briefly in his trek over to the teapot before resuming his intended path. "Relax," the dark-haired young man replied quietly as he set about his intended task, "No one knows that we're here." "So I can't see Tutu," the white haired teen wondered. Something about the way the question was worded triggered the young knight's suspicions and he turned to look back at the other with a scowl, "That's right." He finished pouring the tea, and grabbed the cup to bring it back to his friend as he continued, "As long as you stay in here you'll eventually forget everything. Then you won't be confused by these worthless emotions, either. That's what's best for you."

Mytho reached out to take the cup and gazed thoughtfully down at the tea, "Okay…" The response was harmless enough, but it was the way the other teen _said_ it that made Fakir start to worry. It sounded…doubtful. 'Is Mytho…questioning my actions,' the green-eyed young man wondered uneasily. "You know I'm only doing all of this for your sake…right," he asked quietly. "I know," the golden-eyed teen replied with a soft smile before that smile faded into a worried frown. "Yet you doubt me," the young knight challenged with a frown. "Not you exactly," the other teen replied thoughtfully, "I don't _know_ what's best for me or not. I don't know… I want to believe that you know what I don't. You always have before. Yet… What if you _don't_ know? What if we both are clueless? That scares me…" "Of course I know what is best for you," Fakir replied sternly, "I know you better than anyone. You shouldn't worry yourself over something so pointless." "I'll try," Mytho replied quietly before taking a sip of his tea.

Fakir was troubled by his friend's confession, though he didn't show it. Combined with the nightmares he'd had the night before, he found his convictions were deeply shaken. Remaining in the mill with Mytho wasn't helping him any; if anything it was making his uncertain feelings even worse. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed to leave for a bit so he could work them out. "You'll be fine on your own if I leave for a while, right," he asked his friend with a concerned frown. "Yes," the white-haired teen smiled softly back, "I won't go anywhere." 'I've heard that before,' the dark-haired young man grumbled to himself, 'And I always return to find he's wandered off. Since his heart started returning these incidents have become a lot less frequent, but… Is it really worth the risk? I really need to clear my head, but… Damnit, what should I do?!'

"You promise you won't wander off," the taller teen finally asked with a stern frown. "I promise," the other teen replied with a nod. 'I guess…I'll just have to trust him,' Fakir sighed and nodded, "All right, then. I shouldn't be gone long. I'm off." "Take care," Mytho replied as his friend walked out the door. For his part, the green-eyed young man still couldn't shake the feeling that it was a mistake to leave the shorter teen unattended. Yet if he stayed his _own_ emotions would end up driving him to distraction, then he'd get irritated, and then he'd inevitably end up losing his temper and lash out at the golden-eyed teen. His friend didn't deserve that. Not when he was already doubting whether _either_ of them truly knew what was best for him. Lashing out…would only make his doubts grow stronger. It was best for the both of them if he took the time to sort himself out. "I guess I'm taking a walk," Fakir sighed quietly as he stepped away from the door.

The young knight didn't have any particular destination in mind as he started to wander around town. There were, however, three locations in particular he avoided. The area of town containing Charon's shop and house, the Academy campus, and the Academy dorms. He ended up standing by a fountain outside of an old church, and just stood there watching the falling water as he thought to himself out loud, "Mytho…you aren't the only one to wonder about that…" The fact was Fakir had been doubting whether some of the actions he'd taken over the year were really for the best after all. His most recent regret was locking Mytho in that library storage room on the night of the Fire Festival…not to mention all the harsh things he'd said to the other teen in recent months. "That nightmare," the young man sighed, "Could it be my subconscious trying to tell me that if I keep on acting as I have been…I will end up driving Mytho away too? Am I really hurting him…just as much as Tutu is?"

The dark-haired teen shook his head viciously in denial. "No, that can't be," he frowned darkly, "I've only ever done what I thought was necessary to keep him safe." Yet he felt terrible about some of the things he'd said and done in recent months. He truly did, and he'd been raised to believe that if something felt wrong…then it probably _was_ wrong. "What else can I do, though," the young knight raised his hand to his forehead and ran it down his face in resignation. Fakir had never had anyone he could truly rely on for advice on how to fulfill his duty to protect Mytho. He'd just been trying to do the best he could, and for seven years his best had been enough. Now though…matters had changed. No matter what he did or said things refused to go back to the way they had been, and he was starting to fear that they never would. Things kept changing, the story kept moving, and he couldn't stop any of it. Without thinking, his left hand drifted up to grip at his right shoulder. "Is that it then," the young man's eyes fell shut heavily, "Is there really nothing I can do?"

He turned to glance down the street as the sound of street organ music sounded from the distance as he realized that strange Edel woman was hanging around again. 'What does she want _this_ time,' he groaned as he turned back to face the fountain. "Hello, Fakir," the green-haired woman greeted as she drew near. He gave her an odd look, "No cryptic statements this time?" She didn't answer and instead asked him a question, "What do you think it means to have courage?" Fakir frowned, "Why are you asking me?" Yet again Edel ignored his question and instead fixed an even stare on him as she spoke, "By insisting you stand alone you face a terrible fate. Yet if you would but seek out the other who fights to protect the Prince and reach out you could turn it aside. Do you have the courage to try?" The dark haired teen gaped at the pale woman before his eyes narrowed in a cold glare, "You claim to know the fate that awaits me. How? Who the hell are you really?" "I am what I am," the green-haired woman replied evenly, "No more and no less." "That tells me nothing," the young man snarled as he turned and reached out to grab her arm, but once he grasped it he froze and stared at her in shock, "What…?!" Her skin didn't even feel like skin, but like polished wood…and it was so cold. "What are you," he asked as he released her arm and stepped away uneasily.

"I am not an enemy," Edel assured him, "This story…is sad. I would like it to not be so, yet I have no power to change things." "Why come to me then," Fakir sighed as he looked away, "I'm not even sure I can stop this story let alone _change_ anything about it." "Because you are the knight," the woman informed him calmly, "If anyone has the will and strength to change his fate it would be you." He looked back at her in surprise, "You…truly believe that?" "I do," the organ grinder replied. The dark-haired youth stared at her in amazement before a faint smile crossed his face, "….Thank you. For believing in me. At least someone does…" "You never answered my question," Edel smiled back, "Do you have the courage to try to reach out?" Fakir frowned, "How can I when I don't even know who it is you want me to reach out to?" "The other who fights to protect the prince," the pale woman replied evenly. "There isn't anyone else though," the young man sighed in frustration, "There's only ever been _me_." "Until now," the green-haired woman countered. "Who," he wondered as the cold skinned woman started to walk away. "You know who," she replied enigmatically. The green-eyed teen frowned in confusion as he watched her disappear around the corner of a nearby building before he whispered, "I wish that were true…"

Fakir sighed heavily after Edel vanished and rubbed at his forehead in agitation. Between his own troubled thoughts and that strange woman's words he was feeling even worse than he had back at the mill. He was actually nearing the point where he'd accept _any_ sort of assistance from the first person who offered. Unless it were Tutu. As far as he was concerned she was one of the things he needed help dealing with and the only sort of assistance he'd accept from her would be if she offered to _stop returning heart shards_. "When thinking about things and talking about them fail," he grumbled quietly, "There's always dancing or steel." It had been far too long since he'd practiced either ballet or sword-play, and they had always helped him to settle his thoughts in the past. If nothing else it would calm him down. "Guess I'm sneaking into the house after all," the dark-haired teen laughed bitterly. Hopefully the uncanny luck he'd had in avoiding Charon would hold out. Fakir wasn't in the mood for a confrontation, but then again he never was. Not with the man who had raised him since his parents died. It _hurt_ to have his father figure doubt him so much. Avoiding him like he had been was also painful, for he felt guilty, but…it was far less than that caused by the look the smith kept giving him. That look of disapproval and bitter regret…

Fortunately, the young knight's luck held and he was able to sneak in and out of his house once more without running into his father. His practice blade in hand, Fakir made his way to his old practice spot in the park. It was close to noon, so he made a quick stop to grab something to eat for lunch on the way. Once there he quickly ate, and then began to warm up in preparation for the activities he had in mind. He planned to start with ballet before moving on to practicing his sword-work. It would be strange, practicing his forms without music, but he'd listened to enough of it over the years that it was no real trouble to pick a song from his memory. He could dance to music that sounded out solely in his head just as easily as he could to that which rang through the air.

Once he finished his warm-up routine he launched into a tormented dance. It reflected the troubled thoughts afflicting him perfectly, and as he danced he felt some of his tension ease. 'I may not be able to stop the story the way I had hoped,' he mused as he danced, 'It may be that I will need to use that ritual after all… If so, then so be it. I will accept that risk.' He ended up losing himself in his routine, and a good two hours had passed before he finished. He rested for a few minutes before moving on to practicing his sword-play. Just because he was slightly calmer didn't mean he wasn't going to try to calm himself further. He spent the rest of the afternoon drilling himself mercilessly. It was close to sundown by the time he finished, and he was breathing heavily from exhaustion. Yet he felt almost normal for the first time in days. It was a relief. "I…needed that," he panted with a slight smile.

Fakir returned his practice sword to his room and slipped back out of the house to make his way back to Mytho. He'd been away for far longer than he'd intended, and the sun was slipping below the horizon even as he walked. Still, he felt much better than he had that morning. True he was physically worn out, but his mood had improved. Unfortunately, that good mood came to an abrupt end when he returned to the mill to find his friend had gone missing. His eye twitched slightly as he turned to run back outside to search, 'Why didn't I listen to my instincts?! They're always right about things like this! Damn it!'

"Mytho," he shouted as he slammed the door open and ran out. He ran to the low wall out back that separated the mill-yard from the river and looked around. "Where did he go," he hissed before turning to continue his search. Fakir had a feeling the other teen probably hadn't gone far, so he restricted his search to the neighborhood in immediate proximity to the old mill. However, his search turned up neither hide nor hair of his missing friend. He headed back towards the mill with the intent to check to see if the white-haired teen had made his way back on his own. It was with a thrill of mixed relief and frustration that he noticed the door to the building was wide open as he drew near, and he ran forwards. However, those feelings turned to shock and fear when he beheld the state his friend was in. "Mytho…," he breathed anxiously.

Mytho was sprawled out unconscious on the floor just inside the door. Fakir couldn't keep the fear he was feeling out of his voice as he rushed forward, "Hey, Mytho! Snap out of it!" He knelt next to his friend and was relieved to find that the other teen seemed to be unharmed for all that he was out cold. The dark-haired teen frowned uneasily at that, "Mytho." 'What happened to you,' he finished inside his head. The white-haired teen was breathing easily and steadily, yet was entirely motionless otherwise. He would get no answers from that quarter. Fakir's frown deepened as he started to scan for anything else that might explain what had happened to his friend. Malachite green eyes swiftly focused on a black feather lying on the ground next to the unconscious teen as a slight gasp escaped their owner at the sight. He reached out slowly, picked it up, and brought it before his face. It was a raven's feather. "I see," Fakir glared coldly at the feather, "So this means that it's finally appeared, huh?" He released the feather and allowed it to fall to the ground.

The story had finally progressed to the point where the Raven had started to exert its influence. It wouldn't be the true Monster Raven, of course. So long as Mytho's heart remained incomplete the seal would hold firm. Yet the Raven had minions…agents…avatars who could act on its behalf. They were not so restrained. "I knew it was only a matter a time," he muttered grimly as he stared down at the black feather, "I was just hoping I would have managed to stall the story again before things progressed to this point… I'm running out of options…" The young knight turned to look at his friend and his expression hardened, " I have to protect him…no matter what…" He glanced back at the feather and sighed. They clearly couldn't stay in the mill any longer. Perhaps it would be for the best if they returned to the dorms. At least there the chances for the Raven's avatar to strike would be limited with all the other people around. Gently, Fakir reached out to roll Mytho over onto his back, carefully picked him up, and cradled him in his arms. "Let's get you someplace safe," he whispered as he turned to leave with one last venomous glare at the feather on the floor. The story's pace…had accelerated.

 **A/N:** And that is another chapter down. I think it came out rather well, and I even managed to add in a little foreshadowing for future events! Whoo-hoo! And yes, I did use the British spelling of the word 'drafty'. Why? Because I like how it looks and I read way too much Discworld. I decided to have Fakir work out that Edel probably isn't human in this chapter. He isn't entirely sure _what_ she is yet. Just that she isn't human. I also _finally_ had him admit that he _really_ doesn't want to die the way the knight did in the story. He still hasn't acknowledged his fear of said event, though. That is for later… As for the 'seven years' bit…that has a bit to do with my own head-canon. The way I conceive it, Fakir's parents died when he was around six or seven years old. Flashbacks clearly show him writing legibly and 6/7 is the earliest I can realistically imagine that being possible. He met Mytho between a year and six months later. He made his promise to protect Mytho when he was eight years old. Think about that for a moment. Fakir was _eight_ when he made the decision to take on the responsibility to keep Mytho safe. Eight years old and he has placed himself in a position where _he is responsible for keeping another human being_ _ **alive**_ **.** That is the kind of decision that cuts a childhood brutally short. Fakir is far more mature than most 15 year olds…and I have a pretty good idea of _why_. He grew up too fast…he thinks more like an adult than a teenager. That…isn't entirely a good thing. It can cause problems…and, let's face it, Fakir has a _lot_ of problems. However…I am of the opinion that all of his flaws and imperfections only serve to make him even more perfect as a character. Yes, I actually think Fakir is perfect. Because he is. I will fight you over this. And I did slip in another Princess Tutu Abridged bit. It's not a direct quote…more of a stylistic homage if you will. Next episode…is one of my favorites. Because there is much Fakir time…also it is the first time his nice side is blatantly on display. He needs to smile more. MAKE HIM SMILE MORE AHIRU! YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE HE SMILES AROUND WITH REAL ANY CONSISTANCY! I swear I am not insane! ….Okay, I lie. I am a bit insane. Who isn't? Right, enough rambling. I'll see you all next chapter. **Present day edit: this chapter didn't really need that much changed, but there were a few small things. Mostly paragraph length issues.**


	8. First Encounter

**A/N:** This is the part where I start counting down chapters to where I cover my favorite episodes…namely 12 and 13. I like the season 1 climax….a lot. And I have _plans!_ Kukukukukuku…. Yes, I did just evil laugh. But we are not there yet. I still have three chapters to cover (not counting this one) first. But soon…fun times for me! SQEEE! What? I enjoy this series and I enjoy writing this fic. It makes me squeal with glee… STOP JUDGING ME! Anyways, some things I should mention. I already mentioned that I can't speak German, but I also want to write out the incantation Fakir uses in this episode…because it is awesome. I got around this by copying down the English translation of what he said off of the subtitled episode, and then ran it through Google Translate. The problem was I knew that this was not the most accurate means of translating the words. Fortunately, my mother has a friend who is fluent in German and she re-translated it for me. It is now as accurate as I can get it although I know it probably doesn't match what is in the show. I'd rather be more true to the actual language in this case. Bold text is in-world writing, such as a letter. Right. Time to start chapter. Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. Now I am going to flee for my life before an enraged Fakir murders me for all the crap I plan on putting him through in my other fics. I'm pretty sure he hates my guts by this point… RUNNING!

Chapter 8: First Encounter

Thanks to the fact that it had been well after curfew for the dorms when he found Mytho back at the mill, sneaking back in to their room hadn't been much of a challenge for Fakir. The young knight settled the unconscious teen in his bed and spent the rest of the night keeping an eye out for any sign of raven activity. He _had_ noticed the number of the large black birds hanging around town, and particularly around campus, increasing over the past month. Now, at least, he had an idea why. 'The Raven must have started to direct its minions to keep an eye on the prince the second the story started moving again,' the dark haired teen sighed as he rubbed at his temples. Going a full night without any sleep after a week of sleeping _very badly_ was starting to give him an exhaustion induced headache. He could ignore it, but it was still irritating.

The dark-haired young man glanced over to where Mytho lay sleeping and frowned as he considered what the possible cause of his friend's comatose state might be. Fakir was pretty sure ravens were involved somehow because of the feather he'd found beside the white-haired teen. The young knight just didn't know much about what sort of powers those creatures even had. All he knew was that their feathers, beaks, and talons were sharp enough to slice through human flesh with ease. He remembered enough of the time the monstrous birds had besieged the town when he was a child to recall the damage they'd inflicted on those they caught outside. Admittedly, he'd only seen the injuries on those who'd managed to escape. He'd never seen the bodies of those the ravens had killed…at least he didn't recall seeing them. Fakir was well aware that some parts of his childhood were complete blanks…including how, exactly, his parents had died.

The young knight didn't bother dwelling on the holes in his memory, though. Such things weren't all that important. He looked out through the curtains as the sun started to rise and relaxed slightly. No sign of raven activity, and with the sun up they were unlikely to act directly. Fakir could afford to let his guard down a little bit. The young man turned away from the window and walked over his friend's bedside before sitting on the edge of the mattress. Mytho still hadn't shown any signs of awakening. Nothing _seemed_ to be wrong with him, but it wasn't normal for the other teen to be so still when he slept. "This is what I get for leaving you alone," he whispered bitterly as he watched the sheets covering the sleeping teen rise and fall slowly as he breathed, "I never should have left your side… Forgive me…"

In truth, the dark-haired young man wasn't sure if the white-haired teen had vanished from the mill because he wandered off or because the ravens had taken him for some reason. All he knew for sure was that he may have been able to prevent whatever had caused his friend's unconsciousness if he hadn't been off clearing his head. Fakir acknowledged that he really _had_ needed the time away because he was still far calmer than he had been beforehand. Yet…he also blamed himself for _not being there_ when Mytho had needed him. He had failed…and that was something the young knight simply could not forgive himself for. Even if his friend woke up and told him otherwise, the green-eyed teen would continue to blame himself for whatever had happened.

Fakir reached out and gently brushed a few strands of hair away from his friend's sleeping face as he thought, 'I am so sorry, Mytho…' A sudden sharp noise at the window startled a soft noise from the dark-haired teen and he sat up warily. He turned to look towards the curtains shrouded panes as another sharp rap sounded. The young knight stood and quietly made his way over before peering out discretely. A soft sigh escaped him as he realized it wasn't anything dangerous. "Her again," he murmured softly as he recognized Ahiru's diminutive form. She was throwing small rocks at the window…most likely she was hoping to catch his friend's attention. However, she soon stopped and walked away dejectedly. "Hmph," he frowned, "What a persistent girl." You'd think that after a week of Mytho being absent she'd back off a bit, but she clearly wasn't one to be easily deterred. It would be an admirable trait if she had been focused on _anyone else_ other than the white-haired teen. As it was, her persistence was more irritating than anything. It was only going to end up getting her in trouble. 'I can't let her keep this up,' he reluctantly admitted to himself, 'I've done everything short of threaten her to drive her off… I suppose I have no choice. If that's what it takes to keep that idiot safe… I swear she's almost as bad as Mytho in some ways…' That was actually a disturbing concept once he thought about it. One Mytho was difficult enough to handle. He didn't need to add a female variant.

He was snapped out of his musings when he heard his friend call his name softly, "Fakir." The young knight turned to look at Mytho and was relieved to note that he seemed to have suffered no ill effects from his strange sleep. The rocks being thrown at the window must have woken him up. Perhaps he owed that Ahiru girl some thanks after all. "You're awake," Fakir asked his friend softly. The white-haired teen ignored his friend's question and instead asked one of his own, "Where is Tutu?" 'This again,' the dark-haired teen mentally sighed before he took a few steps closer to where the other teen was resting, "Don't worry, Tutu isn't around anymore. What happened?" The golden-eyed teen sat up and brought his hand to his face as he thought back before he admitted quietly, "Tutu saved me." A soft noise of surprise escaped the malachite-eyed teen at that admission as his friend continued, "She tried to return one of my heart shards." The young knight frowned in concern, "Mytho…you…" 'Don't tell me you actually _want_ your heart back now,' he finished internally. Mytho tensed suddenly as he came to the next part of his recounting of events, "And then Kraehe…" Fakir's frown deepened at the unfamiliar name, "Kraehe?" His friend hunched over slightly he replied with a pained look on his face, "Yes, Kraehe, dressed like a a black bird… She took…my heart shard…and…"

The dark-haired teen tensed at the words 'black bird' as he realized that this Kraehe must be the one acting on the Raven's behalf. Mytho looked up at his taller friend pleadingly as he wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, "Hey, Fakir, don't I… Isn't it bad if I don't get my heart back?" Fakir had been approaching slowly as his friend spoke and abruptly reached out to cover the distraught teen's eyes with his right hand the second he finished. The taller teen gently guided the other teen to lay back down on his bed as he spoke soothingly, "Forget about it." "But," the white-haired teen protested weakly before the green-eyed young man cut him off. "Listen," the young knight explained softly, "I brought you back here because I thought it would be safer with people around. It's better for you to just relax and sleep." The golden-eyed teen relaxed and sighed softly as he allowed himself to drop off once more, and the dark-haired teen slowly pulled his hand away with a concerned frown.

'If she is anything like the character in the story, I doubt this version of Tutu truly has bad intentions,' he admitted to himself, 'Not if she actually _did_ try to save Mytho. Yet even if she means well her actions are only going to bring him harm, and _that_ is something I can't forgive.' A dark look flickered across his face as something from his conversation with Edel the day before suddenly clicked into place. 'Edel suggested I try to reach out to the other person who is fighting to protect the prince,' he brought his left hand up to his mouth as he thought, 'Could she have been referring to Princess Tutu?' He scoffed quietly at that, "That would be just my luck. The _one_ person I could ask for help with keeping Mytho out of trouble is also the _one_ person responsible for how he's suffering right now…" Fakir sighed in resignation as he started walking around his friend's bed to reach his own. He then sat down heavily on the mattress and gazed tiredly at the slumbering white haired teen. 'I can handle this on my own,' he told himself, 'I've managed to for this long and while I can't deny that the assistance would be nice…I will never accept it from someone I can't trust to do what is best for him. So I'll continue to stand alone in Mytho's defense…'

The young knight allowed his friend another hour of sleep before he woke the teen up to get ready for class. They'd already missed a week, and he figured it would be best if they didn't miss any more. He already had an excuse in mind considering that, the last time their classmates had seen either of them, Mytho had been clutching at his chest and screaming. Fakir figured he'd just make up an illness of some sort that had kept the white-haired teen out of commission and that the taller of the two had been too busy caring for him to come in. Fortunately, one of the side effects of the story controlling the town was that official oversight on attendance for the Academy was remarkably lax. All anyone needed was a believable excuse and no further questions would be asked. The dark-haired teen had to admit it was pretty convenient.

The two young men didn't take long to get changed into their school uniforms. The green-eyed teen placed a hand on his friend's shoulder before he could make for the door and spoke, "Listen. Don't tell anyone else about where we were last week. Just let me handle it. Understand?" Mytho nodded, "Okay. I understand, Fakir." "Good," Fakir squeezed the other teen's shoulder lightly before releasing it, "If anyone asks where you were just tell them you were sick, got it?" The golden-eyed teen shot a confused look back at the taller teen before he agreed, "All right." With that taken care of, the two young men left their room and headed for campus; making a quick stop to grab breakfast on the way in.

Fakir broke away from Mytho the second they reached campus to head for Mr. Katze's office. He had spent the entire walk in putting together a fictional account of the last week and adding just enough detail to make it believable. Now that it was finished, he only had to spin the lie to their instructor and hope he bought it. The dark-haired young man knocked on the door the second he reached it, and waited for the response. He didn't wait long. "Yes, come in," the feline's smooth voice called out. The teen took a deep breath to steel his nerves and opened the door, "Mr. Katze." "Ah, Fakir," the anthropomorphic feline looked up from his desk, "I was quite worried about what had happened to you and Mytho after you ran out of the theater so suddenly." "My apologies," the malachite-eyed teen bowed his head slightly, "I was so busy taking care of Mytho I didn't have time to get in contact." "I take it he has recovered then," the cat-man asked with a tilt of his head. "Yes," Fakir replied shortly. "What was wrong with him," Mr. Katze inquired.

"All I knew at first that it was some sort of chest pain," the young knight lied casually, "So I took him to the clinic to get him checked out. They did some tests and eventually concluded that he had a mild viral infection in his heart. The doctor said that could become serious if he didn't take it easy before he gave him some medicine and told him to get a lot of rest. Mytho doesn't always follow instructions very well, so I had to keep a close eye on him the entire time to ensure he was doing what he needed in order to recover. It took most of the week for his symptoms to clear up, but we took a few extra days off just to be sure he was really over it." The feline's eyes were wide by the end of the young man's explanation, "My goodness! It sounds as though you both had a rough time of it." "More irritating than anything," Fakir shrugged, "Mytho isn't a very good patient. He kept trying to practice in our room. I had to threaten to tie him to the bed to get him to stay put. Still, he's all better now and that is what's important."

"I suppose you're right," Mr. Katze sighed, "I am relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. Will you be rejoining class today?" The dark-haired knight nodded firmly, "We will." "Then I suppose there is nothing more to be covered," the feline teacher admitted reluctantly, "I will be keeping a close eye on young Mytho in the meantime just to be sure, you understand. Diseases of the heart can return with very little warning." "That's fine," the malachite-eyed teen gave a brief smile, "I appreciate your concern." The anthropomorphic feline sighed again, "Well, thank you for telling me. I will see you both in class later today." "You're welcome," Fakir replied politely, "Till then, Mr. Katze." The young man then turned to leave. The second the door shut behind him, the dark-haired young man sighed in relief. Not only had Mr. Katze bought the story he made up, but was actually going to be keeping an eye on Mytho. That meant this Kraehe would have even fewer opportunities to come after his friend. It was an unexpected bonus, but a welcome one.

The two young men had agreed to meet near the walkway between the ballet building and the lecture building before they headed to class, and that is where Fakir headed the moment he was done with Mr. Katze. When he walked outside he noticed Mytho was standing near that Ahiru girl again and seemed to be talking to her. As he hurried closer he overheard his friend asking her, "Do you know about Tutu?" The red-head immediately started stammering, "What? Eh, um, well…" It was bad enough that the white-haired teen was fixated on the mystery ballerina, but for him to start asking random students about her… The dark-haired teen slammed his hand down on the railing as he snapped, "What are you doing?" The girl looked up at him in surprise as he vaulted over and landed on the ground in a graceful crouch. "Fakir," she addressed him uncertainly. The young man stood slowly and shot her a cold look. Maybe she had approached Mytho or maybe his friend had approached her. He didn't know, and he honestly didn't care at this point. The fact was that Ahiru was getting far too involved in things for his comfort, and he intended to make damn sure she _stopped_ before she got hurt. Fakir turned to his friend, "Mytho, you go on ahead. I'll be right there." "Okay," the golden-eyed teen agreed before walking away.

The young knight waited for his friend to be out of earshot before he folded his arms across his chest and addressed the red-head who was still standing nearby, "You…" The blue-eyed girl gasped quietly before she straightened up and tried to look attentive, "Yes?" Fakir stared at her coldly causing her to cringe slightly and look away uncertainly. She wasn't acting guilty, but she was clearly uncomfortable in his presence. 'Good,' the dark-haired teen's eyes narrowed, 'That will make things easier.' "You're such an eyesore," he told her in a low tone as he walked towards her. She flinched at that and he paused when he was standing next to her before glaring harshly down at her as he continued menacingly, "Listen. Never come near Mytho again. If you do, I _won't_ just let it go." Ahiru's eyes widened in fear as she started to shake in response to his threat. She really _was_ afraid of him… He walked away, satisfied that he had gotten through to her, but not without a twinge of regret. For some reason, Fakir always felt bad after his interactions with the girl…mostly because they were always hostile to some degree. She probably thought he was a hateful jerk, and to be fair he did a lot to cultivate that reputation. It made keeping people away from Mytho a lot easier.

The thing was…he genuinely did not hate the red-head at all. She was irritating and an idiot, but there were also things about her that he almost admired. She was kind-hearted, persistent, and surprisingly brave in her own way. She stood her ground even though she was afraid of him. He could admire those traits. The young knight heard a soft thud from behind him as he reached the bottom of the hill, but didn't stop to look back until he reached the walkway again. What he saw made his feelings of regret intensify. Ahiru had been so frightened that her legs had given out on her and she had sunk into an awkward sitting position as she continued to shake. While it confirmed that she was at least taking him seriously, the fact that he had scared her so much that she couldn't even stand…was almost painful. 'It's for her own good,' he reminded himself as he turned to continue on his way to the lecture room for morning lessons, 'The closer she gets to Mytho the more danger she is in.' And yet, somehow, no matter how many times he told himself this…it did nothing to relieve his feelings of guilt.

Mytho and Fakir had each been assigned a make-up paper by Mr. Katze since they had missed a major assignment. Apparently, after the Eleki Troupe performance, all of the other classes had written reviews on the show and turned them in to be graded. The anthropomorphic feline was sympathetic, yet firm, as he addressed the two teens, "I know you couldn't help missing the rest of the performance, nor the classes following it. However, for the sake of your grades, I need you to turn in something. I am assigning each of you a paper on a topic of my choosing. Mytho, you will be analyzing the story of the Swan Lake ballet by composer Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky." "Okay," the white-haired teen agreed with a spark of interest flaring deep in his eyes. "Fakir, you will be researching the background of the composer Ludwig van Beethoven," Mr. Katze continued as he turned his attention to the taller teen. "All right," the young knight nodded thoughtfully. He could live with that, and it wasn't as though he wasn't somewhat curious about the man behind the music. "These papers should be no less than two pages long, and no more than five. They will be due a week from today which should be more than enough time providing you both work diligently," the feline instructor concluded. Fakir could agree with that assessment. The tricky part was with the story picking up he may not have as much time to work on the assignment as he would like. 'I'll just have to do as much as I can in what little free time I can grab,' the dark-haired teen sighed quietly as the teacher dismissed them.

Fakir wandered off to think a bit during the break between lecture classes and the morning dance lessons. He was honestly feeling a bit troubled. He couldn't stop dwelling on the appearance of this Kraehe character, not to mention his suspicions that Edel wanted him to join forces with Tutu and his lingering regret for scaring that Ahiru girl. He headed for the fountain behind the secondary ballet building. The sound of the falling water was calming, and he needed that. However, as he drew near he heard a familiar strain of street organ music. Edel was standing next to the fountain as he walked and smiled gently at the young knight, "Good day, Fakir." The dark-haired young man sighed tiredly, "You seem to be in the habit of turning up when something is bothering me." "I go where I am needed," the green-haired woman replied serenely. "And what is it you think I need," he frowned. The front of the strange woman's organ popped open and she reached inside to draw out two heart-shaped jewels linked by a short chain. She handed the jewels over to Fakir with a soft smile.

The young man stared down at the stones in confusion before he looked back up at her with a raised eyebrow, "Are these supposed to mean something?" "This jewel's name is 'courage'," Edel explained, "It is two jewels that are one." The malachite-eyed teen scowled and handed the stones back to the pale woman, "If this is another attempt to get me to join forces with Tutu you can forget it. It's her fault things have gotten so out of hand." "Is it really," the green-haired woman peered at him intently, "Or might you be blaming an innocent when you should be looking elsewhere?" Fakir was about to ask what she meant by that when a sudden gust of wind picked up and forced him to shut his eyes out of reflex. He heard the strange woman ask him one last question, "Who is Princess Tutu to you?" When he opened his eyes the young knight was surprised to find Edel had vanished entirely. "What _is_ that woman," he wondered aloud as he turned to look at the fountain. He frowned as her last two questions echoed through his head.

'Tutu an innocent," Fakir considered carefully, 'I suppose such a thing is possible. She could have gotten so deeply entangled in the story that she has minimal control over her actions when acting out her role. In which case she'd be as much a victim as the rest of us. The problem with that is I can't see how _anyone_ could have been so thoroughly trapped without being exceptionally close to Mytho. The only people close enough are Rue and I…and I know for a fact she _isn't_ Tutu. Even that Ahiru girl isn't close enough, though not for lack of _trying_ on her part… Idiot.' The young man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he started to consider the second question, "As for what Tutu is to me…" It wasn't a difficult question for him to answer. Most of his ill feelings towards the mysterious ballerina were because of the problems her actions were causing Mytho. 'Changing him and starting the story up again,' Fakir scowled bitterly, 'She's a nuisance and a threat to Mytho's safety. She's someone I have to stop no matter what. For Mytho's sake…' Unfortunately, he had no further time to spend thinking as the chiming of the school bell informed him it was almost time for class to start. The dark-haired teen sighed heavily and turned to head back to the main ballet building. He would have to save working out matters until later.

"Today we are going to practice the pas de deux performed by the Nutcracker Prince and Clara from the Nutcracker ballet," Mr. Katze announced after the advanced class finished their warm-ups, "Mytho and Rue will you start us off, if you please?" Fakir leaned against the barre with his eyes closed as the two teens headed towards the middle of the lesson room and took up the first position of the routine. He saw no reason to watch the couple dance as he already knew how good they both were. Instead he was busy cursing the fact that they were practicing pas de deux. The girls he ended up paired with either spent the entire time staring at him with starry eyes or were so standoffish that the entire dance felt awkward. The young knight preferred to dance alone. He was willing to concede that _maybe_ if he could find a partner who could work with him he could learn to _tolerate_ dancing with someone else. The problem was he had yet to meet someone who could even come close to meeting his standards or that he felt comfortable dancing with.

Thinking back, the dark-haired teen reluctantly had to admit that the only person he'd ever danced with that he felt even marginally comfortable around was that Ahiru girl during the Sleeping Beauty pas de deux. Unfortunately, not only was she nowhere near his level of skill, but she was absolutely terrified of him. It was bitterly ironic that the one girl on campus who had even the slightest hint of potential for being an acceptable dance partner was also the one girl who probably wanted the least to do with him. Fakir sighed as Mr. Katze called up the next couple and opened his eyes, 'Then again, what else can I really expect. I've been deliberately cruel or threatening in every interaction we've ever had. I _wanted_ her to be afraid of me…' A frown crossed his face as part of that last thought caught him off guard, 'Wait…wanted is past tense… Could I possibly _not_ want her to fear me anymore? Why?! If she isn't afraid of me it will be that much harder for me to keep her away from Mytho. But then again…I can't really say I enjoy being feared…'

Fakir snapped out of his thoughts briefly as Mr. Katze called him and one of the special class girls up to dance. Apparently this one's name was Adeline not that he was going to bother to remember it. It wasn't really important. As they moved through the routine, the dark-haired young man's thoughts drifted back to what he had been contemplating earlier. 'Could it be that the reason I don't want her to fear me is because I feel guilty,' he wondered. The idea had merit. After every last one of their interactions he had felt regret for how he had treated her, and he knew why. Deep down, she reminded him of Mytho. She had far too much in common with his friend in some ways, and it had gradually gotten to the point that every time he lashed out at the girl it felt as though he were lashing out at the other teen. She wasn't a friend. That much he was certain of, but he also definitely didn't hate her. 'She's impossible to hate,' he admitted to himself as he lifted his partner, 'Maybe if things were different I would consider her as a possible friend, but with things as they are… As much as I may hate it, I need to keep her away from the both of us. And that means she needs to fear and possibly even hate me along with everyone else.' A bitter smirk crossed his face as he and his partner brought the routine to a close, 'So be it. I will continue to make that sacrifice if it means I can keep everyone safe…'

Soon enough morning lessons were over. Mytho stayed behind in the lesson room as Mr. Katze apparently had something he wanted to discuss with the other teen. Fakir could accept that and made his way to the changing room alone. He'd meet up with his friend outside of the main ballet building afterwards. The dark-haired teen arrived at the changing room to find only one other student was present; an anthropomorphic iguana. He vaguely recognized him as being one of the intermediate students. The young knight mostly ignored the iguana student and headed for his locker to grab his uniform. However, when he opened it he found an unexpected surprise. A small, yellow duck was sitting on top of his uniform and stared back at him with wide eyes.

The poor thing must have wandered in by mistake and been startled into hiding the second the iguana student had walked into the room. Hiding was definitely the smart thing to do in this case because some species of iguana ate meat…and this little duck was small enough to be a meal. Not wanting to tip off the iguana student to the poor bird's presence, Fakir casually reached out, grabbed his uniform and lunch bag, and gently tucked the duck into the folds of the loose blue shirt he wore as part of his practice outfit alongside his lunch, pants, and shoes. The malachite-eyed teen then slung his uniform jacket over his shoulders as he turned to walk back out while holding the duck in place. The iguana never suspected a thing.

Fakir brought the duck to the edge of the campus woodland and set it down on the grass with a soft smile. He then reached into his lunch bag, pulled off a piece of the bread he brought along with him, and crumbled part of it in his hand before tossing it lightly at the duck's feet. "Here," the young knight offered gently as he kneeled on the ground before it. The duck looked down at the bread before looking back up at him curiously. "You're pretty silly," he told the small, yellow bird lightly, "There's no way you're going to find food in there." 'Unless of course you count my lunch,' he admitted to himself as the duck started to peck cautiously at the crumbs. A gentle smile crossed his face as he watched it eat.

He really did like animals and he'd always had a soft spot for ducks ever since he was a child. Even now that had not changed. "I guess you wouldn't have wandered in if you knew," the dark-haired teen told the duck kindly which made it hesitate for a few moments before it started devouring the bread crumbs he'd scattered while quacking softly. The young man laughed in amusement at its enthusiasm, "You sure eat a lot." The small, yellow bird paused at that and looked back up at him as he stood and tossed the rest of the chunk of bread he'd torn off on the ground in front of the silly animal. "Hurry on home," Fakir said softly as he walked away, "Don't come back here." He still had to get changed back into his uniform and hoped that the iguana had already left so he wouldn't have to find an empty classroom or something.

The young knight was in luck; the changing room was empty when he slipped back in. He quickly changed out of his practice clothes and back into his uniform before heading out to meet Mytho. Fakir considered it a stroke of luck that today was only a half day of classes, so they had the afternoon free. The dark-haired teen figured they both could take advantage of that to get a start on their papers. "Fakir," the white haired teen greeted his friend as the taller teen walked up. "Mytho, I want you to wait in the Main Hall common room," the young man told the other teen, "I'm going to stop by the library to check out some reference books for our papers before I join you." "Okay," the golden-eyed teen agreed, "I'll see you then." The malachite-eyed teen swore he was never going to get used to Mytho's occasional outbursts of almost normal behavior…well, normal for everyone _other_ than the formerly emotionless teen.

With a slight shake of his head, Fakir turned to head into the library. He spent enough time in the building that he didn't anticipate his search for useful texts taking too long. The other teen would be around other students, so there was little chance of a sudden raven attack. Still, he intended to make his search as fast as possible. The less time the white-haired young man spent outside of his presence the better. Soon the young knight had collected a tall stack of books which he scowled at in annoyance. He couldn't exactly carry them around campus without risking running into somebody. He'd have to ask the librarian if someone could drop them off at the dorms. Fortunately, the woman had a massive soft spot in her heart for the young man although it could make her a bit obnoxious at times. Regardless, she turned out to be more than willing to assign one of her aides to deliver them to the room he shared with Mytho. "You can just leave the books here and I'll make sure they'll get where they need to go," the matronly librarian smiled at him. "All right," Fakir nodded politely as he set the stack down on the corner of her desk, "Thank you." With the matter of the books now taken care of, he left to rejoin his friend.

Fakir found Mytho leaning against the window on the far side of the common room reading a small piece of paper. Curious and slightly concerned, he strode over and reached out to grab the paper. "What's that," he demanded softly as he pulled the white sheet free and looked at his friend. The white-haired teen looked up at him as he replied, "It says that Ahiru has something important to tell me." The dark-haired teen scowled slightly as he looked down to read the note himself. **Mytho. There is something I need to talk to you about. It's really important, so please come meet with me! At five this evening** , the letter read, **I'll be waiting in the garden behind the school. Ahiru.** "That girl just doesn't seem to listen to what I tell her," the young knight grumbled quietly as he finished reading before he scoffed and handed the note back to his friend/charge, "Hmph. You can throw it away. There's no need for you to go."

The young knight turned to walk away but had only gone a few steps before Mytho's reply shocked him into motionlessness, "I don't want to." Fakir looked back at his friend disbelievingly, "What?" The golden-eyed teen met his gaze evenly as he replied, "I'm going, Fakir." The young man couldn't believe what he was hearing and walked back over to stand next to his friend with a dry smirk, "You're kidding, right?" "I'm serious," the white-haired young man told his friend. The dark-haired teen placed his hand on his shorter friend's head as he asked him, "What would be the point of meeting with her?" The shorter teen's response wasn't much of a surprise considering his current fixation, "She might know something about Tutu." That was extremely unlikely, bordering on impossible, as far as Fakir was concerned, "Her?" "Yes," Mytho replied. "Moron," the young knight told his friend flatly, "There's no way she would!"

The white-haired teen tried to protest before Fakir cut him off, "But…" "Don't get involved with Tutu," the young knight told his friend firmly, "She's someone who will only bring you unhappiness. Don't be fooled." Mytho made a soft noncommittal noise before the taller teen continued, "Plus, that Kraehe person is coming after you as well." The response the golden-eyed teen gave to that reminder of the danger he faced made his taller friend's eyes widen in surprise and horror, "I don't care." The dark-haired young man grew angry at the total lack of concern his friend was showing and gripped the other teen's hair tightly as he snapped desperately, "If I say you can't, you can't do it! Understand!?" The shorter teen's eyes hardened as he replied firmly, "No." Fakir panicked at that and, for the first time in his life, physically lashed out and slapped his friend across his face as he yelled, "Stop doing this now!"

Seconds after the blow landed a painful stab of guilt lanced through his heart for striking his friend. The young knight didn't even register the shocked gasps of the other students in the common room as he stared in disbelief at the red mark growing on the other teen's cheek. 'What have I done…,' he stared in horror, 'I actually struck Mytho…?' Mytho looked up at him coldly as he straightened back up from back against the window sill he had fallen against. "I'm sorry," Fakir apologized quietly as he tried to reach out to the other teen. The white-haired teen didn't respond and walked passed the young man who had long ago sworn to protect him without a word. It was only after he'd crossed half the room that he addressed his friend, "I'm going."

Fakir stood in silence staring out the window for a few moments before a quiet grunt escaped him as phantom pain surged through his birthmark. In response, he raised his hand to grip at where it crossed his right shoulder as he glared outside. "So I can't stop Mytho with words any longer," he wondered quietly. A cold scowl crossed his face as he realized he was truly out of options. He had no choice left but to resort to his only back-up plan. The young knight released his shoulder and allowed his hand to fall back to his side as a bitter smile crossed his face. "Very well," he whispered, "I _will_ keep you safe, Mytho…no matter what." The grim faced young man turned and stalked out of the common room ignoring how the other students cringed away from him. Instead he was focused on what he needed for his plan. The ritual he had in mind was fairly simple. All he needed was the blade he intended to restore to power, a water source, and his own blood. However, he figured there was a good chance that afterwards there could be trouble. It may be for the best if he wore something that would at least somewhat conceal his identity. He had an outfit he rarely wore stashed at Charon's house, so that is where he headed.

His odd string of luck for avoiding the smith held for the man was once again occupied at his shop and the house was empty when he arrived. Fakir opened his dresser and reach for the back where he'd hidden the clothes he desired. He pulled out a white shirt with ruffled cuffs, a dark grey and bronze jerkin, black pants, and a dark brown cloak. He swiftly changed into the outfit, pulled on a pair of black leather boots he had stashed under his bed, donned the cloak, and headed out to retrieve the prince's sword from its resting place. It was late afternoon by the time the young knight reached the old church that housed the entrance to the section of the tunnels he needed. It wasn't common knowledge, but beneath the surface of Goldkrone was a labyrinthine network of natural caverns, catacombs, brick-lined tunnels and cisterns, and carven chambers that all linked together. There were multiple entrances to this underground labyrinth, but Fakir was only really familiar with the one under the church. He was aware that the catacombs the sword was hidden in was only a small portion of a much more extensive subterranean system, but he had never bothered to explore. Even though a part of him was curious about the tunnels, their history, and where all they led…taking care of Mytho was more important by far.

As he approached the back of the church, the young man reached out and pressed several bricks in a specific pattern. The wall shuddered and part of it sunk into the ground revealing a stairway leading down. This was the entrance to the catacombs. He paused to light the candle he had brought with him before he headed down the stairs. It ran straight for a ways before it started to spiral tightly around a brick pillar. Soon the stairs gave way to a narrow passage that intersected with several others. Fakir didn't hesitate as he retraced the steps he had taken so long ago on that night he had followed Charon down here. Even when the stone of the walls gave way to alcoves filled with bones and his path took him past the hollow gaze of countless skulls, he never once flinched. The dead didn't frighten him. Finally he arrived at the room of stone tombs. The bodies once entombed here had long since decayed into dust which made them ideal for storing things…if you didn't feel bad about desecrating the final resting places of those long dead. Personally, he felt they deserved to be allowed to rest in peace even if their bodies were long gone. He didn't know what Charon had been thinking to choose such a hiding place, but he couldn't say he agreed with it.

The tomb he needed lay against the far wall of the chamber, and the young man's steps were even as he approached. Fakir set the candle on the lid of the adjacent stone box, and gripped the lid of the one that contained the sword. A soft grunt escaped him as he shifted it aside and the light of the candle fell upon the battered sheath that held the sword and an old stone mask. He hummed softly as he lifted the mask out; it wasn't something he had been expecting to find. However, he could certainly use it. He stashed the mask in his jerkin before he reached in to grab the sword and lifted it out. The young knight slid the blade out slightly from its sheathe and cringed slightly at its condition. Mytho really hadn't taken good care of it while he had been wandering around town for the metal of the blade was rusted and stained with old blood. "Which means I now add the risk of getting tetanus from this thing," he sighed as he pushed the blade back in and fastened the sheathe to his belt, "As if what' I'm going to try isn't risky enough already… Wonderful." Fakir turned and headed back up to the surface. Now he just needed a water source and he already had one in mind. The fountain where he had spoken to Edel yesterday afternoon was in a fairly isolated part of town. People rarely walked passed it. He could perform the ritual without fear of interruption there.

A fog had rolled in by the time Fakir reached the fountain and the light was dim. He figured the sun was probably close to setting. Calmly, he drew the Prince's Sword and held it in his right hand with the blade pointing slightly downward. The young knight then shut his eyes in concentration as he carefully recited the words of the ritual, " _Diesem Schwert, dass das Herz des Prinzen zerbrach und den bösen Unholdrabe zerstörte, schenke wieder Kraft._ " As he spoke the last phrase he opened his eyes and raised his left hand to grip the sword tightly as he held it horizontally in front of his face. Blood flowed freely from the deep wounds the blade opened in his hand, yet he did not flinch. Instead he watched passively as the blood trickled in a steady stream into the pool of the fountain and spread to stain all the fluid in it a rich blood red. Seconds later the water turned pitch black, and Fakir carefully placed the tip of the sword into the viscous fluid.

Slowly black tendrils snaked their way up the blade until it was entirely covered. Once the fluid had completely coated the blade the dark-haired young man slowly raised the sword out of the water, swung it high over his head, and drew it down before his face as he closed his eyes once more. A jolt surged through him as the ritual caught and he could feel the power now pulsing through the blade in his hands. This was the true holy sword that belonged to the Prince from the story; Mytho's sword. Malachite green eyes opened as he turned the sword in his hands so that it was edge on to his face before he returned it to its sheathe. Fakir then pulled out the black gloves he had brought with him from his pocket and tugged them on over his hands. The one he had sliced open was no longer bleeding for the wounds had sealed shut the second the ritual caught. Finally, he pulled out the stone mask and set it over his face before he pulled up the hood of his cloak. There was no chance of anyone guessing his identity now.

The masked teen hurried back towards campus in hopes that he would reach Mytho before anything happened. It was a good five minutes passed the time Ahiru had wanted to meet with his friend by the time he got back, and he was duly concerned. As Fakir quietly slipped through the trees he heard a female voice that sounded almost like Rue's only lower pitched and even _more_ prideful. 'Could that be Kraehe,' he wondered as he drew near. Finally, he was close enough to see what was going on as he hid behind a nearby tree. He saw two ballerinas, one clad in white and the other clad in black, standing near his friend. Though saying the black-clad ballerina was _close_ to the white-haired teen was an understatement as she was leaning on his shoulder and embracing him tenderly around the waist with one arm. That alone was enough to irritate the young knight, but it was her words that truly set him off as she held a small black box in her hand over the golden-eyed teen's head and summoned a flock of ravens as she proclaimed, "Let us give your heart unto the ravens."

That alone was enough to identify her conclusively as Kraehe. The masked knight drew the Prince's sword as he tensed in preparation to charge forward when he noticed the white clad ballerina, who he could only assume was Tutu, running forward herself with a cry of, "You can't!" She ended up knocking the other ballerina _away from Mytho_. That was all the opening Fakir needed to act. He ran forward as fast as he could, grabbed the other young man tightly, and carried him clear of the two ballerinas. Once he was satisfied his friend was safely out of range he released the white-haired teen and turned to face his adversaries. The black-clad Kraehe was the larger threat at the moment, and so it was her on whom he focused his attention as he held the Prince's sword in a ready guard position. "Who," Princess Tutu wondered in surprise as she stared at him. "That's the Prince's sword…," the dark ballerina blurted before she cut herself off. "So you're Kraehe, huh," the young knight stated coldly as he glared at her through his mask.

Kraehe looked indignant to be addressed in such an informal fashion and her words confirmed her feelings as she prepared to leap towards where Mytho now stood, "Don't be so familiar with me, you filth!" Fakir raised his voice slightly as he leapt to counter her actions, "An avatar of the monster Raven?" The black clad ballerina pulled out a black feather which she held before her as she twisted in the air as though trying to avoid his blow. He, in turn, spun in the air to increase the force of his attack as much as he could. As the two flew past each other they each struck simultaneously. The young knight felt the feather impact with the side of his face, but the mask protected it from damage. He also felt his sword catch and tear fabric indicating that he had failed to deal a serious blow to his enemy, much to his frustration. Kraehe's movements had carried her just far enough away to save her from harm. The masked teen twisted himself around as he fell and landed facing back towards where the ballerina _should have_ landed only to find that she had vanished in a black whirlwind. He may not have harmed her, but apparently his attack had been enough to drive her off…for the moment.

Now he focused his attention on Princess Tutu who looked both surprised and pleased as she watched a red glint fall down from where Kraehe had been. "The shard," she cried out as she started to move forward. "It's no use," Fakir stated coldly as he stood from where he had landed which caused her to look at him in surprise, "Princess Tutu." The white-clad ballerina looked confused as she addressed him hesitantly, "You're…" He imagined she was about to ask _who_ he was, but her question was negated as half of the mask covering his face crumbled and fell away. Her eyes widened in surprise as his identity was revealed, yet there was also a look of recognition on her face as well. This confirmed his suspicion that her true identity was one of the female students. There was no point to wearing the mask any longer, so the young man cast it away as he allowed his hood to fall back. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mytho," he addressed his prince calmly as he walked towards the other teen, "It's all right now. You don't have to suffer anymore." The young knight reached out to guide his charge into sitting on the steps of the gazebo behind him as Tutu cried out, "What are you doing?"

Fakir ignored her question as he quietly spoke to his friend, "Sit." Mytho obeyed with a mildly curious look on his face as the taller teen continued with a soft smile on his face, "I'll shatter your heart for you once again." To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure it would even work if anyone other than the Prince attempted this, but the young man was truly desperate. All he could do was pray that he wasn't making a terrible mistake as he stood up and raised the Prince's sword over his head in preparation to strike. "So it's no use, Princess Tutu," he shouted harshly as he thrust the blade forward. To his surprise, the white clad ballerina ran forward with a cry of his friend's name on her lips, and caught the blade in a feathery white fan and stopped it cold. She was braver than he expected to take such a risk. Her outburst did prove to him that she did seem to actually care about Mytho in some way.

Her next words, on the other hand, revealed just how little she actually knew about what was going on, " _You're_ the one who broke apart Mytho's heart? Why would you do something so cruel?" 'She really has no idea,' he realized in disbelief as he took a few steps back, 'That the Prince took out his own heart by choice and shattered it to seal away the Monster Raven. Meaning she likely also has no idea that restoring his heart will free the Raven once more. How could anyone be so _stupid_?!' "It wouldn't have come to this if you hadn't shown up," Fakir snarled back coldly as he raised the Prince's sword to strike at Tutu. He didn't intend to kill her at this point as he had to concede that there was no malice behind her actions…only ignorance. There was no reason for him to take her life just because she was an idiot. However, injuring her enough that she could no longer stand in his way…that he was more than willing to do.

Princess Tutu took a wary step back in the face of his aggressive stance and murmured, "I…" Fakir took a step forward, and she took a step back with a nervous look on her face. The young knight suddenly charged forward and the white-clad ballerina started to raise her fan in defense. Just as he was about to strike they were both startled by a commanding cry from Mytho, "Stop, Fakir." The dark-haired young man's grip on the sword loosened as he breathed out in shock, "Prince…" His instincts tried to obey the direct order from his prince which ran directly against his own desires; the conflict caused him to stumble slightly which made it easier for Tutu to counter him. Because of his loosened grip, she was able to knock the Prince's sword out of his hands with a single strike from her fan and it flew through the air to land at the white-haired teen's knees.

The shock of having the sword torn out of his grasp stung the green-eyed teen's hand slightly and he gripped at it as he gazed uncertainly towards his prince. The other teen slowly reached down and grasped the hilt of his old blade before picking it up and standing. "It's my fault," Mytho told them both calmly before turning an inquisitive look towards his knight, "If I pierce my heart with this sword, will that satisfy you, Fakir?" This was more than the taller teen could have hoped for and he relaxed slightly as he replied, "That's right. That way, you can return to how you were before!" 'And the story will _stop_ ,' he finished in his head, 'Everything will go back to normal then.' "I understand," the golden-eyed teen nodded slightly before he lowered the hilt of the sword to the ground and angled the point of the blade till it was pointing directly at his heart.

Fakir was startled as Tutu suddenly cried out in fear and desperation, "You can't! Don't do it! Mytho! You'd rather be without a heart?!" This idiot was almost as clueless as that Ahiru girl when it came to such things, and he wasn't about to let her ruin the best chance he had to save everyone tangled in the story's coils before it was too late. "Don't listen to her," he snapped harshly, "Hurry and pierce your heart!" "Mytho, please," the white-clad ballerina pleaded as she started to move towards his friend. The young knight wasn't about to let her interfere and grabbed her roughly by the arms as he forced her to the ground in a kneeling position. "Now, do it," he ordered as he held the ballerina back. "Don't," she cried once more. Fakir raised his voice as he repeated his order, "Do it!" "You can't," Tutu screamed before she started to plead desperately, "The other day, you smiled a little, remember? When I saw that, I thought that must be the real you… I think if your heart is full… you'll show even more of yourself! Because that's the real Mytho!"

Mytho looked up as Princess Tutu, to the young knight's surprise, suddenly slumped forward and started crying. "I'm sorry," she sobbed sadly as a tear fell from her face, "I can't keep you from feeling pain. Restoring your heart is all I am able to do!" The dark-haired teen was stunned by the ballerina's words. She was aware that her actions could bring the white-haired young man pain, but was so determined to help him in any way she could that she just continued doing the only thing she was able to do. Because she truly believed that was what was best for him and him alone. 'She really _does_ want to do what is best for Mytho just as badly as I do,' he realized with a twinge of sympathy. The golden-eyed teen fixed a contemplative look on the weeping ballerina before he released his sword and allowed it to fall to the ground with a clang. Princess Tutu looked up at the prince as he stood once more and breathed his name in surprise, "Mytho…" Fakir released the white-clad ballerina and stood himself as he met his friend's even gaze. He had no trouble reading the intent in those golden eyes; his heart would remain intact. "I see," the young knight murmured in resignation, "So that's the answer you've chosen, huh?"

There was no further point in remaining. Kraehe had left and his friend was safe for the moment. Yet even as he turned to leave, the dark-haired teen was deeply troubled by how things ended. He had finally seen Tutu's face with his own eyes, he had seen and stopped Kraehe, and he had nearly convinced Mytho to fix things himself. However, he had ultimately failed and the story would continue to progress. 'Mytho wishes his heart to be restored,' Fakir admitted internally with a pained frown, 'Even though he knows it will bring him pain. Have I been wrong…all this time? No, I couldn't have been…yet…this is the prince's wish. How can I go against that? I…don't know what to do…' He felt completely helpless for the first time in years…and that bothered him. Unknown to the young knight, however, something inside him had begun to change. Princess Tutu's words had more of an effect than any of the teens in that clearing had known. In spite of himself, deep within the young man's heart, he started to accept that the best thing _for Mytho_ …was for his heart to be fully restored…and the story brought to an end.

 **A/N:** And that is another chapter done! For the record, the English translation I was working off of reads ' _Into this sword, which broke apart the prince's heart and destroyed the wicked monster raven, bestow power once again._ ' It is such a cool line…I think it sounds even cooler in German… The tetanus bit was yet another shout out to Princess Tutu Abridged. It's a good point, though. That sword was really rusty and cutting yourself with a rusty blade is one of the easier ways to be infected with the disease. Or puncturing the skin with anything rusty. Obviously, Fakir does not get tetanus so we can assume the ritual protects him from disease…somehow. Yes, Fakir did lie to Mr. Katze about what happened and there was a reason for that. It is my way of indicating that, even though he doesn't write at this point, the guy has one creative imagination. I suspect that crafting a believable lie requires a certain measure of creativity. Personally, I wouldn't know as I tend not to lie…and when I do I am very bad at it. As for the disease he was claiming Mytho had…it is a real condition that I looked up on the internet. The proper name is pericarditis, and is basically inflammation of the linings of the heart. If you're curious the website I referenced is: www. heart HEARTORG/ Conditions/ More/ What-is-Pericarditis_UCM_444931_Article. I put in spaces in the web address so will hopefully allow it to be displayed when I upload this, so take them out when you type it in to the search bar. How did I find it? Typed in a search for chest pain as a symptom, clicked on a page that lists conditions chest pain can be a symptom of, and picked the condition that is just serious enough to require medical treatment yet not serious enough to be fatal. Finally, I'm sure some of you are wondering about the phantom pain thing since it is a birthmark and not a scar. It boils down, ultimately, to reincarnation being a tricky process sometimes. Basically, the phantom pain is the one thing that carried over from his prior existence…specifically from the wound that ended that life. Well, that and how easily he took to knighthood. Reincarnation is weird. Well, I'll see you all next chapter. Now I am off to squeal happily in anticipation. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE! **Present day edit: Why were there so many random extra spaces between words in this chapter? Eh, whatever. Fixed now!**


	9. Fate

**A/N:** I'm ba-ack! With yet another chapter as I continue to delve into Fakir's experiences throughout the series! Because he's fascinating. For the record, I don't have a crush on him, nor am I romantically attracted to this character in any way. He is, however, my favorite. Which means his life is going to royally suck in every other story I write with him as a character. Which is also why my mental representation of him keeps trying to murder me…a lot. My head is an interesting place when I write. Also I am changing Yagiko-sensei's name after all. Her name is now Miss Koza. It's as close as I can get to Anglicizing the Russian word for nanny-goat; according to Google Translate at least. I may need to start asking people to give me better translations… Oh, well… Also…TWO MORE CHAPTERS (not counting this one) UNTIL I COVER MY FAVORITE EPISODES! WHEEEE! Let's begin the chapter now, shall we?

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing! Back to fleeing for my life!

Chapter 9: Fate

By the time Mytho returned to the dorms that night, Fakir was already lying in bed with his eyes closed. Yet he was not asleep. He couldn't sleep. His mind would not calm down enough. The white-haired teen said nothing as he got ready for bed himself and lay down. The young knight flinched slightly at being ignored so thoroughly by his best friend. The dark-haired young man sighed softly as he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling pensively. At the moment, his friend's emotional state was less of a concern than his own. His feelings were churning inside him so violently that it was making him feel a bit ill. Worse, he could barely identify what he was feeling from moment to moment. The only ones he could pin down were fear and guilt. There was a lot of guilt. Fakir wondered if he should try apologizing, but part of him doubted that the prince would accept it. He hadn't earlier after the taller teen had struck him. The troubled young man flinched again as he remembered the look on his friend's face. He still felt terrible about having done that, and wished he could reverse time to take it back. To do _anything_ other than strike the one person he'd sworn on his _life_ to protect. A broken sigh slipped out of him as he rolled onto his side and watched his friend sleep. 'I only ever wanted to keep you safe from harm,' he thought mournfully, 'I never meant to hurt you… I am a pathetic excuse for a knight and an even _worse_ friend… Forgive me…'

The young knight didn't get any sleep that night. His tormented feelings and his growing doubts combined to induce his subconscious to conjure up the worst nightmares he had ever experienced every time he started to drop off. Fakir groaned quietly as the sun peaked through the curtains and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Two consecutive nights without sleep on top of everything else he was currently dealing with was _not helping_. His mind did _not_ work right when he was sleep deprived. The dark-haired young man glanced over at where Mytho was sleeping and sighed as he concluded that it might be for the best if he left before his friend awakened. Partly because his guilt had him convinced that the other teen probably didn't even want anything to do with him right now, and partly because his emotions were such a mess that even _looking_ at the white haired young man hurt. He needed to leave if only so he could get his head on straight before he tried talking to the prince again. 'Otherwise I'll probably end up saying something I regret,' Fakir smirked bitterly, 'As usual…' The exhausted teen slowly climbed out of bed, put on his uniform, wrote a note explaining his absence for his friend, and slipped out of the dorms. Besides, there was always a chance that going for a walk would help; maybe. He could hope.

Fakir once again wandered aimlessly through town for most of the morning, lost in thought, until his path carried him to _that_ fountain. The fountain Edel had found him questioning his actions. The fountain he'd used for the ritual the night before. He didn't know why he ended up there, but he was so far past the point of caring. The young knight stared brokenly at the falling water for several minutes before a shudder ran through him and he looked down at his right hand. "With this hand…I tried to pierce Mytho's heart," he murmured guiltily. He clenched his fists briefly before relaxing them and allowing his arms to fall limp by his side as he returned his gaze to the fountain. "I believed," he continued quietly, "it was the best thing for Mytho. However…now Mytho wants his heart returned to him. What can I do when I can't even stop him?" A pained look crossed his face as he raised his head slightly, "When I think about what I can do now…it basically amounts to accepting my fate…without fear." Fakir's heart clenched tightly at that admission and he started to tremble slightly. His body's reaction caught him off guard and his eyes widened slightly as he brought his hand up to his face, "Fear?"

He knew the fate that awaited the knight from the original story as a terrible one, and it had been a recurring theme of his nightmares for years. After reading 'The Prince and The Raven' to Mytho so many times over the years it was impossible for him to be unaware of the end that awaited him. Yet Fakir had never before considered what it was about that fate that frightened him so much. Was it the fear of failure as he had so long believed? Or was it something far more basic? His instinctive reaction was starting to make him suspect it might be the latter. The young knight turned away from the fountain and started to wander once more as he contemplated his reaction. He was aware that he was missing classes, but that didn't matter to him right now. His classes had never been that high on his priorities list anyways for all that he pushed himself to excel.

'What is it that I am afraid of,' he wondered uneasily, 'Considering present circumstances there are many things that could be driving it, but what is it specifically? I don't know…' However, he had an idea of how he might find out. He knew of an old used bookstore that had a copy of 'The Prince and the Raven'. He'd read it so many times as a child he could practically quote it from memory. Fakir also knew the campus library had a copy, but seeing as he was basically playing truant he wasn't going anywhere near the Academy until _after_ classes had let out. That left the used bookstore as his only option. He'd read the story once more until he came to the part that covered the knight's death. Maybe it would give him some clarity on _what_ was fueling his fear and how he might overcome it.

It was around noon by the time the young man reached his intended destination. The used bookstore was fairly small and nestled between two other businesses. The owner was a strange old man, but he was accommodating enough to allow Fakir to read whatever books he wanted free of charge. When the dark-haired teen opened the door to the shop, the old shopkeeper perked up and gave him an odd grin. "Have you come to read that book again," the old man asked. "Yes," the young knight replied shortly as he walked into the store. "It's in the same place as always," the shopkeeper chuckled, "You read it often enough I'm surprised you haven't just broken down and bought it already." "Shut up," the teen huffed before making his way up to the second floor. The novel was located in a dusty aisle near the back of the store where most customers rarely tread. The malachite-eyed young man retrieved the book, walked over to a nearby table, adjusted the brightness of the old kerosene lamp resting on said table, and started to read.

Drosselmeyer's language tended to be flowery and dramatic which made his progress slow. Normally, he would be drawn into the world of the story and lose himself in the words. It happened every time he read a work of fiction regardless of who wrote it. However, the young knight could not afford to indulge himself this time. Page by page he diligently worked his way through the unfolding narrative. Fakir lost all track of time in the dark corner of the used bookstore he had settled in as he read. As he drew near to the part where the knight died he started to frown. "Just why do I have to be afraid," he challenged himself quietly as he read on. His anxiety had been growing the entire time and it was starting to get on his nerves. "Ridiculous," he scoffed quietly, "'The Prince and The Raven'. What is written here is Mytho's story." 'Not mine,' he reminded himself. "The fate of a prince who tried to protect all who were weak," he continued bitterly, "And to do that, hurt himself and even lost his own heart. That's all." The next page detailed the fate of the knight and he hesitated as he grasped the edge of the page.

Before he could overcome his hesitation a familiar sing-song voice interrupted him, "There is happiness for those who accept their fate. There is glory for those who fight against their fate." Edel's chilly hand covered his own as she reached out and turned the page from across the table. Fakir looked up at her in surprise, "You're…" "The story is continuing," the pale woman stated evenly, "The story is living." A soft gasp escaped the young knight as he looked back down at the book. There on the page looking up at him was an artist's rendition of the death of the knight…rent almost clean in two by the raven's claws. The knight was in full armor, though its protection had been utterly useless, and the track of the wound across his body…matched the dark-haired teen's birthmark perfectly. The reaction he experienced looking upon that picture was the same as that he'd experienced by the fountain. "This is…," he murmured shakily, "You're saying that this is my fate?" 'Is there no way I can change this end,' he breathed shakily as he fought his fear back down.

Edel gazed at the grim young knight with a look vaguely resembling curiosity on her face before she asked, "Is it sad for Rue? Mytho? Ahiru? Or maybe…" Fakir raised his head to ask her what she meant by that, and gasped as he realized the woman had vanished again. "Sad for Rue," he wondered aloud, "and Ahiru? What do they have to do with any of this?" He had long suspected that Rue might have a role in things to come considering how close she was to Mytho, but…Ahiru? Could that silly duck-like girl actually be involved in this mess? "Impossible," he shook his head sharply. There was no way that idiotic red-head could have gotten tangled up in things without him knowing. The dark-haired teen glanced back down at the book and swallowed hard as he reached out to shut it. "I'm afraid…of what my death would entail," he admitted at last.

He had always known that he didn't _want_ to die, but then no fifteen year old did. Not wanting to die was normal as far as he was concerned, but he had never fully realized just how much the prospect terrified him. "I don't want to die," Fakir murmured brokenly, "because if I die that means I will no longer be able to keep my promise to Mytho. I'll have failed him in the worst way possible. There's nobody else I can trust to keep him safe." He briefly flashed back to how desperately Princess Tutu had tried to protect Mytho from _him_ yesterday and scoffed. She may _think_ she was helping the prince. She may even think she could protect him, but he had seen the hesitation in her eyes when he'd fought her. Tutu was not willing to kill, and if she couldn't kill she couldn't protect _anyone_.

Fakir let out a long slow breath before he moved to replace the book and turn the lantern back down to its lowest flame. There was no point in lingering any longer. He had his answer to why he was afraid; though that still left the problem with how to deal with Mytho _choosing_ to regain his heart. The young knight stepped out of the store to find it was now the middle of the afternoon. Classes at the Academy were done by now, so he started to make his way over to campus. As he walked he considered the problem he faced in regards to his friend. True, he knew the other teen better than anyone. They had grown up together after all, but it was the emotionless, heartless version he was the most familiar with. In spite of how many times Fakir had read the story the prince came from that Mytho still felt like a stranger to him in some ways. The true prince was someone larger than life who was to be admired from a distance and not like his best friend at all. There as a gap between the two versions that the dark-haired teen simply did not know how to reconcile. Worse, the more heart-shards his friend regained the less he recognized the white-haired teen. Would the person the other teen was turning back into even _want_ to be his friend? The green-eyed young man doubted it, and that was something he wasn't sure he could live with.

The fact was his friendship with the white-haired teen was the only thing keeping him from succumbing to suffocating loneliness. He literally had no once else. The dark-haired knight's relationship with Charon had deteriorated so far that it may as well not exist. His surrogate older sister – Raetsel – had moved out around the time he had entered the Academy, and he hadn't seen her in years. The other students at the Academy were either afraid of him, hated him, or were so obsessed over a fictional version of him that his real self would end up being a massive disappointment. He had no close living family members that he knew of and most of the distant relatives he knew of were content to ignore that he even existed. If Mytho decided he no longer wanted anything to do with the taller teen…that would be it. Fakir would be completely alone. He didn't know if he could handle that without breaking. As he walked, memories of the changes overtaking his friend flashed though his head. The white haired teen questioning how he felt about his taller friend, questioning whether the young knight even knew what was best for him, deciding to go meet with Ahiru against his friend's wishes…

"Mytho is changing," the young man admitted aloud, "Into a Mytho I don't know." A sudden outburst from the nearby pizza parlor caught his attention, and he turned to look. Mr. Katze and Miss Koza were in the middle of some sort of discussion. "That is something that cannot be helped," the anthropomorphic feline said firmly, "We both even think differently, after all." The troubled teen watched as the feline took a bite of his pizza and the goat-woman devoured the menu. The cat-man set his pizza down with an exasperated huff as he stated, "As you can see, even out interests and what we eat are completely different. So, I don't want to marry you!" The feline instructor suddenly surged to his feet as he declared passionately, "I have no intentions of changing my will!" That statement resonated with Fakir as he turned to face the couple fully. 'My…will,' he wondered before he felt his mind clear, 'I want to protect Mytho. Regardless of how much he changes…my will to protect him remains the same.' The young knight turned sharply on his heel as he resumed his progress towards the Academy.

Fakir had almost reached campus when a full conspiracy of ravens flew overhead. He felt a chill run down his spine as he looked up warily, "What's this?" They were all flying towards the Academy and one of them dipped low enough that he caught a glimpse of its red eyes. "The Raven's servants," he whispered in before his eyes widened in horror, "Mytho!" There was no doubt in his mind that the Raven would send his minions after his friend. 'I have to hurry,' he grimaced as he started to sprint down the streets, 'Stay safe until I get there, Mytho! Please!' The young knight was a remarkably fast runner thanks to the conditioning practicing ballet gave his body. If there was one thing it was good for it was building up core and leg strength. It took the teen less than a minute to cover the remaining distance to campus and reach the main lawn. Fakir paused for a few seconds to check where the ravens were gathering and found them swarming around the art building.

The young man didn't even hesitate to jog over, yet he paused once he drew near enough to see in the windows. "Kraehe," he hissed as he recognized the figure of the black clad ballerina. So she was going after his friend again, was she? Not if he had anything to say about it. A flash of white drew his attention as he realized Tutu was there as well. He stealthily slipped closer and peered through the window to get a clearer look at what was happening. To his surprise, Kraehe was hunched over on the floor and seemed to be in a daze of some sort. Princess Tutu was standing by Mytho and was pressing something in her hands to his chest; something that glowed red. 'She must be returning another heart shard,' the young knight realized before his eyes narrowed, 'Did she actually manage to defeat Kraehe on her own?' If so he might just have to reconsider his opinion of her…slightly. However, once the heart-shard had been returned, all the white-clad ballerina did was _talk_ to the dark ballerina. "That idiot," Fakir hissed, "Words aren't enough!" It had been a hard lesson for him to accept, but accept it he did. The dark-haired young man took a few steps away from the building and tensed. If Tutu wasn't going to do something about Kraehe…then _he_ would.

He sprinted forward and leapt towards the large window with his arms across his face for protection. The glass shattered with a sharp crash, and he shifted position in mid-air to turn his dive into a tumble that would carry him passed the black-clad ballerina. "Fakir," he heard Princess Tutu exclaim in surprise. As Fakir rolled across the floor he snagged a shard of glass to use as a weapon and recovered into a crouch facing Kraehe with his makeshift blade held out in front of him. "Disappear," he snarled viciously, "You damned raven!" Kraehe stared back at him in shock for a few moments before she seemed to recover and a haughty smirk crossed her face. "I remember now," she proclaimed arrogantly as she spread her arms out to the side like raven's wings, "I am a raven, and I am the _true_ prima donna, Princess Kraehe. What I want, I will take by force if I must!" She brought her arms down in a sharp gesture and she vanished in a swirl of black wind and feathers.

 **A/N:** And that's the end. I realize it is a bit more abrupt than normal, but in the series the next episode is a direct continuation off of the end of this one. It is also one of my favorites because little Fakir is freaking adorable. I am not kidding, he is one cute kid. I don't even _like_ kids. Continuing to drop hints at future events because foreshadowing is fun. Also more time in Fakir's head because I enjoy working out what motivates him and how he reacts to things. Fun bit is I think I'm actually managing to not have him be too badly out of character in the process. It helps that I relate to him a lot. I have a much easier time writing for characters that have traits in common with me. I am so looking forward to the next chapter… It provides the impetus for one of my favorite moments in the entire show! Involving Fakir and his messed up priorities. I laugh every time… He's so adorable when he's freaking out and embarrassed… It's funny… I love episode 12… Right. Stopping here. See you next chapter!


	10. Reconciliation and Revelation

**A/N:** I have spent the last several chapters dropping hints at how bad Fakir's relationship with Charon is and now we _finally_ get to see them interact! Foreshadowing for the win! And this episode has so much Fakir screen time! Whoo-hoo! I realize I am acting a lot like an obsessed fangirl right now, but he's my favorite bloody character in the entire show and I _am_ obsessed…with developing his relationship with Ahiru. Because they are just too cute together. I think this pairing may have passed Sakura and Syaoran of Cardcaptor Sakura for the position of cutest couple ever. Which is saying something. That particular pairing has held that position since I was 13. I am currently 31 as I write this. Now that position belongs to Fakir and Ahiru. It's like the end of an era… ONE CHAPTER TO GO (not counting this one)! Yays! As a final note, I made another name change for this chapter. From Waniko/Crocodelia to Ethelinda; according to the list of names on my laptop the name is a German one meaning 'noble serpent'. I feel that it is a fitting name for a little crocodile girl. Right! On to the chapter! Let us begin!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Princess Tutu and I likely never will! Now get that sword away from my throat! EEP! Dammit, Fakir, stop trying to kill me!

Chapter 10: Reconciliation and Revelation

Fakir slowly stood as Kraehe vanished into the black whirlwind she's summoned. As much as he would have liked to finish her off and end the threat she posed, he was willing to accept a retreat…for the moment. Now, however, he had a different issue to deal with. "Princess Tutu," the young knight coolly addressed the white-clad ballerina standing next to Mytho as he turned to face her, "You don't intend to cease returning the pieces of the Prince's heart?" "No," Tutu replied firmly, "because that is the Prince's wish." The green-eyed young man huffed out a short, sharp breath of air as he started to walk across the room to where the other two teens stood. He was still clutching the glass shard he'd grabbed as an improvised weapon loosely in his right hand. "Are you going to shatter his heart again," Princess Tutu demanded warily. Fakir had to suppress a scoff at her question. He had already given up on that as an option; still…it gave him an opening to test her will. "What if I am," the young man challenged smoothly as he drew near. The blue-eyed ballerina tensed, "I can't allow you to do that." "Then will you kill me," the dark-haired teen asked evenly as he came to a halt right in front of his feminine adversary. Tutu leaned backwards slightly as her eyes widened in shock at his question, but didn't answer. "Could you kill me," the young knight challenged once more as he met her gaze with a cold stare. The white-clad ballerina's voice was horrified as she weakly replied, "That's not…"

The young knight could tell that was a 'no' just from her attitude, and that enraged him. He suddenly lashed out with his improvised weapon aiming for the ballerina's throat. He didn't intend to kill her, or even injure her, but to make his point clear. If she wished to protect Mytho…then she needed to be willing to kill even if only as a last resort. The glass shard clipped the chain holding her pendant on before she could even react. The prince gasped in fear and swiftly moved forward to hold his friend back from attacking once more. "Stop," the white haired teen pleaded as he wrapped his arms around the taller teen. Fakir, however, wasn't paying attention and continued to glare fiercely at the terrified form of Princess Tutu. "With the raven right there in front of you, why couldn't you defeat her," he demanded angrily, "You can't protect Mytho simply by returning his heart to him!" "Fakir," the prince snapped reprovingly, but again the young knight ignored him. "But," Tutu protested softly, "Kraehe was in pain…" The dark-haired teen narrowed his eyes as he shot back coldly, "That should be your chance! I could do it! And if it came to that, I could kill you as well!" Mytho had had enough and snapped out a sharp plea, "Tutu, run!" The white-clad ballerina recoiled slightly, but obeyed the prince's command. "Why must you interfere with the returning of my heart," the golden-eyed teen asked his friend reproachfully as he shut his eyes.

Fakir was taken aback slightly by that question as he repeated softly, "Interfere?" "I want to get my heart back," Mytho stated firmly causing the young knight to flinch slightly as he lowered his gaze, "No matter what fate is waiting for me…" The dark haired teen flinched a second time at the mention of fate and started to tremble slightly as his fear returned once more. "I…," the white-haired teen started to say before he started in shock as he felt the faint tremors running through his taller friend's body. "Fakir," he asked concernedly, "Are you trembling? Why?" The malachite-eyed young man tensed and pulled himself free of his friend's arms. "It's nothing," he denied quietly as he allowed the glass shard he'd been wielding to fall to the ground. The golden-eyed teen studied his knight intently before he frowned, "Are you sure?" Fakir scowled back, "If I say it's nothing than it's nothing. Just drop it." It was one thing to admit his deepest fears to himself, but it was quite another to share them with anyone else. The young man was not, and had never truly been, comfortable with other people seeing just how deeply his emotions ran. Admitting that he was terrified of dying at the claws of the Monster Raven was just not something he could do. "Let's just go back to the dorms," Fakir sighed as he looked away, "Before anything else happens…" The prince studied the resignation and exhaustion in his knight's posture before he slowly nodded in agreement, "All right."

The dark-haired teen left the room ahead of Mytho and was several steps ahead when he left the building. This proved to be fortuitous for when he opened the door he caught a glimpse of something red glinting on the ground. As he turned his head to look more closely he recognized the shape of Princess Tutu's pendant before it changed into a simple, red, vaguely egg-shaped stone pendant. Fakir's eyes narrowed as he murmured softly, "This is…" 'Tutu's pendant,' he finished in his head as he hurried down the stairs to kneel next to it. As he reached out to pick it up he noticed the chain had snapped and realized he must have damaged it earlier when he attacked Tutu. He studied it intently as he stood back up with a slight frown on his face. She must not have noticed when it fell off while she was fleeing. That was careless of her. Hearing his friend's steps drawing nearer, the young knight quickly stuffed the pendant in the pocket of his uniform jacket. He feigned as though he had been looking around for threats when Mytho walked out the door prompting the white-haired teen to give him a concerned look. "What are you doing," the prince asked, "Is something wrong?" "I'm just making sure Kraehe or one of her minions isn't hanging around," Fakir lied.

The golden-eyed teen looked somewhat skeptical, but accepted his explanation, "If you say so." The two young men walked the rest of the way back to the dorms in silence. Even when they swung by the usual café to snag a quick dinner they didn't really talk; it was only once they returned to the dorms that the silence was broken. "I forgive you," Mytho told his friend evenly. The young knight stumbled slightly and turned to look at the shorter teen with wide eyes, "What?" "For hitting me yesterday," the white-haired young man clarified, "So don't avoid me anymore. I was worried about you." "Worried about me," Fakir asked in confusion, "Why?" "Your note," the prince pulled the crumpled piece of paper out of his uniform jacket, "Your hand was shaking so badly when you wrote this that I could barely read it. Your handwriting has _never_ been that bad before." "I was tired," the taller young man sighed, " _Really_ tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately. That's all." Mytho frowned as he recalled the times he'd woken up over the last week to find Fakir already awake. "Just how bad have your nightmares gotten," the prince worried. The young knight flinched slightly and looked away, "Don't worry about such pointless things. Last night was worse than normal, but it's still nothing I'm not used to."

When they got up to their room, Mytho headed straight for the shower. The young knight reasoned that the shorter teen needed it more as he had actually attended classes. The only reason Fakir could see for taking a shower himself was to wash off the residual glass fragments clinging to his hair. Normally, he showered first and made sure to keep them short. The reason for this was simple. The prince tended to take very long, hot showers that used up most of the building's hot water. Under the circumstances, however, the dark-haired teen figured that he could just stick his head under the faucet and rinse his hair quickly to get the glass out. That didn't require a full shower. Besides, he'd taken one last night before bed and his day hadn't been physically demanding enough for him to need another so soon.

Instead, he spent the time Mytho was in the shower sitting in the window sill staring at Tutu's pendant contemplatively. He'd pretty much grabbed it on impulse, but now that he _had_ it he needed to work out what he was going to _do_ with it. 'Perhaps I can use it to draw her to me,' Fakir mused, 'As bait. Then I can finally learn who she really is.' Admittedly, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd do once he learned her true identity. He supposed he could simply refrain from returning the pendant. True, it mean going against Mytho's wishes once more but he was still willing to do whatever it took to stall the story if he possibly could. If Tutu couldn't transform into her mystical ballerina form then she couldn't return any more heart shards. That would cause the story to stall out once more. At least long enough for him to come up with a more permanent solution.

'So that's it then,' Fakir decided, 'I learn Tutu's true identity and keep the pendant out of her hands either way. Without it she's just another student and the story will come to a halt. Mytho can keep those shards he already has since he really does seem to be happier, and it _is_ making my life a little easier to not have to deal with his chronic death wish all the time. I can live with this outcome.' The young knight's eyes narrowed coldly as he glared at the pendant hanging from his fingers and challenged mentally, 'Just try to come and take it, Princess Tutu!' Abruptly, his mind flashed back to recall the surge of fear he'd felt when Mytho informed his knight he wanted his heart back regardless of the risks. A slight gasp escaped him as his eyes widened at the recollection before he mentally shook his fear away once more. He lowered the pendant to rest on his lap as he wondered, 'Is the only reason I'm even choosing this option because I'm still afraid to accept my fate?' He scoffed lightly and turned to look across the dorm lawn and murmured self-derisively, "Don't be ridiculous." He wasn't going to deny that he was still scared, but it wasn't why he was doing this. Fakir simply didn't want anyone to die if he could prevent it; even Tutu if he were being honest. As much as he disliked her he could still admit that she meant well. She was a naïve idiot, but she didn't deserve to die. Stalling the story was as much for her sake as it was for his and Mytho's.

Once the white-haired teen left the bathroom, Fakir popped in long enough to rinse the glass out of his hair and dry it off. Both teens got ready for bed after that and relaxed for a few minutes. It had been a long day. "Fakir," Mytho asked after a while. "What," the young knight replied drowsily. After going so long without enough sleep his body was _demanding_ it, and he was actually feeling marginally hopeful that he might have a decent night's sleep. "Why _are_ you so against me getting my heart back," the golden-eyed teen demanded softly. A soft noise of surprise escaped the dark-haired young man as his eyes flew open. That…was not a question he wanted answer right now. "It's…complicated," he replied hesitantly, "You might not understand." "Tell me anyways. I want to know," the prince stated firmly. "…Is that an order," Fakir asked hesitantly.

The white-haired teen blinked in surprise, "A request." The malachite-eyed young man hesitated again as he debated the pros and cons of telling his friend everything right then and there. "I'm really tired," the young knight sighed, "Too tired to cover everything. Can you just accept that I have my reasons for now?" Mytho's eyes widened before he apologized, "Ah, I'm sorry. Sure. Just so long as you promise to tell me later." 'Much later,' the exhausted teen confirmed in his head before he replied, "All right. I promise. Good night, Mytho." "Good night, Fakir," the golden-eyed young man smiled at his friend as he lay down himself, "Pleasant dreams." "You too," the taller teen murmured sleepily. He was out cold seconds later. Mercifully, his sleep that night was undisturbed by dreams good or bad. He was simply too burned out to dream.

Fakir woke up the next morning to find Mytho had already left for classes. A quick glance at the clock showed him that he had slept in a bit; not enough to be at risk of being late, but definitely later than normal. Unlike the other times in the past when his friend left without him, the young man did not freak out at finding his friend absent. Mostly because of the note resting on the table next to his bed; the white-haired teen had taken to leaving notes when he left the room before the his room-mate was awake. Of all the changes his friend had experienced since his heart started to return this was one the dark-haired young man had absolutely _no_ issues with. The young knight hummed softly as he picked up the note and read it. The only unusual thing about it was an addition on the end where the prince promised to keep an eye out for ravens and stick close to crowds as much as possible. "Good," Fakir muttered softly as he set the note back down, "He's taking steps to keep himself as safe as possible. That's very good."

He groaned softly as he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He wasn't exactly sore, but he was still a bit tired. Getting a full night's rest had certainly helped, but it wasn't enough to make up for all the sleep he'd missed. Still, he was functional. The green-eyed teen walked over to his uniform jacket and pulled out Tutu's pendant again. He was determined to keep it nearby at all times, but his practice outfit did not have pockets. That meant he'd have to wear it which ultimately meant he needed to fix the chain. Fakir studied the break intently and was relieved to find it was an easy repair. One of the links in the chain had torn free, but was still mostly intact. All he had to do was slide the adjacent link back into the ring and twist the open end shut. The result wasn't exactly sturdy and it would always be a weak link in the chain, but he could perform a more permanent fix at a later date. It just needed to hold long enough to get through classes until Sunday. With a full day free he'd have more than enough time to slip into the shop when Charon was away to grab some actual tools; yet another advantage of being raised by a smith.

The malachite-eyed teen quickly got dressed in a clean uniform, stuffed the pendant in the pocket of his jacket, grabbed his books, and headed in to campus the second he was finished with his repairs. The trip was completely uneventful aside from a close encounter with fangirls, but that was more irritating than anything. He hated the way they stared at him and giggled. He had still arrived early enough that there was some time before classes started, so he decided to wander around campus with the pendant in his hand. He paused before one of the buildings and looked around as he wondered, 'Where are you, Princess Tutu?' However, as he was looking he happened to notice a small yellow duck sleeping in the middle of one of the paths.

It was a very familiar duck. He was almost positive it was the same one he'd found in his locker a few days back. 'It's still hanging around,' Fakir gave an amused smile as he walked over. It really was a cute little duck with that odd feather sticking up from the top of its head. "Hey," he called softly as he walked over and knelt next to it with the pendant hanging down from his hand, "Hey!" The duck slowly opened its eyes and looked over at him before promptly panicking. The silly little thing ran around in circles quacking frantically as he watched with a slight grin. Even its panicking was cute. "You're the duck I saw the other day, aren't you," he asked lightly.

The little bird paused and froze as it caught a glimpse of the light reflecting off of the red crystal dangling from his hand. It immediately ran over and grabbed the chain in its beak before it started tugging at it. "What, have you taken a liking to this," he wondered curiously. He didn't realize ducks were attracted to shiny objects. It paused and looked up at him with wide blue eyes for a moment before it started tugging at the chain again. There was something oddly endearing about its single-minded fixation. It knew nothing of the burden of duty, the pain of guilt, the fear of failure, or any of the other thoughts that troubled humanity. Such a simple, carefree existence… He almost wished he could be like that. Fakir smiled lightly as he murmured, "I envy your innocence…"

The duck looked up at him again and released the chain as he reached out to rub it lightly on its head. It really was surprisingly tame to allow him to do this, but it had also allowed him to carry it out of the changing room without freaking out and biting him. It was a strange little duck…but he found he was quite fond of it even after only two encounters. The dark-haired teen stood and walked away with another slight smile back at the little duck. Maybe he'd see it around again sometime. He hoped so. For whatever reason, seeing that simple little bird again cheered him up considerably. The bell started to chime signaling that classes would be starting soon, and Fakir sighed softly. The young knight headed for the main lecture hall as he stuffed the red stone back into his pocket. He may not have found Tutu yet, but he had time. So long as he held her pendant he had all the time in the world. He could wait.

Before the start of the first class, Mr. Katze took Fakir aside, "Mr. Fakir." "Sir," the young knight acknowledged. "Is everything all right between you and Mytho," the feline teacher asked bluntly. "Of course," the teen replied with a hint of annoyance, "Why wouldn't it be?" "Several students have told me that the two of you got into a fight a few days ago, and that you struck him," the anthropomorphic feline explained with a calculating gaze, "And then the following day you didn't show up at all." The dark-haired young man flinched slightly from the reminder of his outburst. "I lost my temper," he replied quietly, "I wish I had done _anything_ other than strike my best friend, but…" "You have a hard time controlling your temper, don't you," the cat man gave his student an understanding look. "Yes," the green-eyed teen admitted softly as he looked away. It wasn't as though the fact that he had a short temper was a big secret. Nor was the fact that he had a hard time controlling it sometimes. "And the missed day of classes," Mr. Katze pressed inquisitively. "I didn't get any sleep the night before," Fakir confessed, "I was in no condition to attend classes. My temper is even _worse_ when I'm sleep deprived. I felt it was for the best if I just took the day off." This wasn't entirely a lie. Everything he'd said was the truth, but it wasn't the full truth. "Well," the feline instructor mused, "I suppose it is for the best. I will excuse your absence this time. Just try to not let it happen again." "Yes sir," the young man nodded.

Morning classes passed uneventfully up until Mr. Katze announced he would be having the advanced class be performing demonstrations of solo dancing for the beginning class. That annoyed Fakir slightly, but he acknowledged that it was a good way to draw Tutu out; particularly if he was wearing the pendant around his neck the entire time. The young man quickly got changed into his practice clothes, slipped the chain over his head before stuffing the pendant under the skin-tight fabric of his shirt, and headed for the main lesson room. The beginner students were all sitting on the floor in front of the large windows that overlooked the main campus lawn and watching the advanced students with wide eyes.

"Today I have a rare treat for you girls," the anthropomorphic feline announced as Fakir and his classmates lined up against the opposite wall, "The advanced class will be demonstrating their technique for you all. They have all put in hours of practice to hone their skills to their current level of expertise and you can achieve the same if you put in enough effort. Let them inspire you to push your own grasp of the art of ballet to greater heights." The young knight sighed quietly in exasperation as he realized they were basically being used as examples to demonstrate the benefits of regular practice sessions. "Mr. Mytho," Mr. Katze gestured towards the prince, "Will be going first. What piece would you care to perform?" "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," Mytho replied automatically. It was his default routine. The feline instructor nodded and got the music set up as the other students looked on. Once the player was set, the white-haired teen took up position in the middle of the room and waited for it to start.

"And begin," Mr. Katze stated as he turned on the player. Mytho promptly moved into his routine which Fakir mostly ignored. He was busy observing the students lined up against the opposite wall. 'Could Princess Tutu be one of the girls here,' he wondered as he swept his gaze down the line of girls staring intently at his friend. One of the girls at the end of the line, an alligator of all things, was sniffing the air and suddenly burst out, "I smell a tasty duck, Mr. Katze!" The anthropomorphic feline adopted a look of long suffering on his face as he scolded, "Please be quiet, Miss Ethelinda." That little exchange drove a spike of doubt through the possibility of Tutu being one of these girls. 'Maybe I'm just imagining things,' he shrugged mentally as he swept his eyes back down the line, 'Tutu may be a naïve fool, but she at least has the ability to focus. These girls don't seem to have much of that.' That particular thought was reinforced as he noticed two girls at the other end of the line talking quietly to each other while his friend danced. An amused smirked threatened to creep across his face when Mr. Katze noticed their inattention and tore into them with his normal threat of marriage. 'Tutu definitely isn't one of these girls,' Fakir concluded as he turned his attention to Mytho's dancing at last, 'And the only girl to even notice the pendant in the advanced class so far has been Rue. I know she isn't Tutu. That leaves the intermediate students. I'm finally making some progress for once.'

Mytho finally finished his routine and relaxed with a pleased smile on his face. The young knight wasn't surprised that his friend had been smiling for most of his routine. Ever since the return of his first heart shard the shorter teen had begun to truly enjoy dancing. It was part of the reason Fakir preferred his current plan. Removing the prince's ability to enjoy ballet was just plain cruel, and for all his harsh words and actions the dark-haired young man was not a cruel person. "That was some spectacular dancing, Mr. Mytho," Mr. Katze addressed his friend with a pleased smile, "You've begun to express your feelings more than your technique, haven't you?" "Yes," the white-haired teen replied promptly. The anthropomorphic feline then fixed a considering gaze on the prince, "You're in love, are you not?" That surprised both young men. "What," Mytho asked with a wide eyed look.

'Not possible,' the green-eyed teen scoffed mentally as teacher and student continued their exchange, 'The story won't let him fall for just one person because that would be selfish and the prince's role has always demanded absolute selflessness. That's yet another reason why I don't want him getting his emotions back entirely. He'd never forgive himself if his heart were restored and the Raven escaped just because he was too oblivious to realize his actions were hurting people.' The conversation concluded with Mr. Katze offering to give the white-haired teen a lesson on love which his friend eagerly accepted. Fakir wasn't surprised. His friend had grown increasingly curious over all sorts of emotions including the ones he had yet to have restored. As Mytho stepped back to rejoin the other advanced students the feline teacher turned his attention to the young knight, "Mr. Fakir, you are up next. What piece will you be performing?" "Custom routine," the dark-haired young man replied as he walked forward, "For Wagner's Ride of the Valkyrie."

It was common knowledge in the advanced class that Fakir made up his own dance routines when he practiced, but this was the first time he'd actually offered to demonstrate one. The other advanced students looked on curiously as the malachite-eyed teen took first position in the middle of the room as he waited for the music to start. Mr. Katze finished getting the music cylinder set up and turned to look at his student as he turned it on, "And begin." The young knight burst into the motion the second the music started to play. This particular routine was one of his more challenging ones, but it was also one he had practiced so many times he barely had to think about what he was doing. It also showcased the power and grace of his form without being too frightening.

The main reason the dark-haired teen had chosen it, though, was that it was also one of his shortest practice routines. The less time he spent with the underclassmen gawking at him the better as far as he was concerned. Fakir steadily worked his way through the routine until, finally, he took the final pose with his feet in first position once more, one arm crossed across his chest, the other reaching skywards, and his head tilted downwards slightly. As the last note faded away, he relaxed and stood casually with his arms crossed. "Most impressive, Mr. Fakir," Mr. Katze exclaimed as he walked over, "I'm surprised you were so willing to perform one of your custom practice routines, though. You normally go to great lengths to keep them private." "It was short," the young knight shrugged dismissively. "Hm," the anthropomorphic feline gave him a considering look before he waved the young man off, "Fair enough. Thank you for sharing, anyways." "You're welcome," Fakir replied and walked back to his position against the wall.

Eventually, the rest of the advanced students performed their own routines and class finally came to an end. Fakir opted out of putting in extra practice time after the end of the school day and simply returned to the room he shared with his best friend. Mytho would be fine on campus with Mr. Katze keeping an eye on him, and the other teen had promised to head straight back to the dorms as soon as his 'special' lesson was finished. Besides, as short as it was, the dance the young knight had performed in class was still intense enough to work up a sweat. He needed a shower. A soft sigh escaped him as he walked through the door of the room he shared with his best – not to mention _only_ – friend. He still had no idea how to explain his reasoning to the prince as to why he was so against the other young man's heart being restored. Mostly because there was no way he could do so without bringing up the fates that awaited both of them if the Raven were to awaken. He wasn't entirely willing to do that, but…he may not have a choice.

As he walked into the bathroom to take a quick shower his mind drifted to the progress he'd made in his search for Princess Tutu. The pendant caught the light from where he'd set it on the counter prompting him to scowl at it as he turned on the water. In spite of narrowing things down in his Tutu hunt, he still had a ways to go. There was also the fact that he was starting to suspect he hadn't given the girl behind the magical ballerina enough credit if she had managed to resist attempting to reclaim her pendant. Whoever she was, she must have a fair amount of natural caution which didn't entirely mesh with the rest of what he'd observed in their two encounters. She had been impulsive and emotional the first time, and that tended to fly in the face of cautious behavior. The second encounter she had been nervous, but hadn't actually fled until the prince told her too which again was not something a cautious person would do. Hell, she had completely frozen in the face of his aggression. Not to mention the fact that she hadn't even noticed when her pendant fell off in the first place. Then again, if she'd been badly frightened she probably wouldn't notice. 'Maybe she's hiding from me,' he wondered as he finished his quick shower and grabbed a towel to dry his himself off, 'Because she's afraid I'll attack her again.' He had no intentions to do such a thing, of course, but _she_ had no way on knowing that. It was a possibility.

Fakir quickly pulled his hair back into a slightly damp ponytail and threw on a clean pair of boxers before picking up the pendant again. He was rolling it between his fingers as he walked back out still lost in thought. The young knight idly tossed the rest of his uniform on his bed before turning and walking over to the small table in the middle of the room. 'Mytho and Princess Tutu…,' he mused tiredly as he set the pendant down on the table, 'Neither of them is making matters easier when I get right down to it.' The stressed-out young man sat heavily on the chair next to the surface he had set Tutu's necklace on and let out a soft groan of exhaustion. He really was tired. 'Tutu believes it is for the best that Mytho regain his heart,' he reflected in resignation, 'And now Mytho agrees with her. Am I truly the only one who has any idea just how dangerous this course of action is?' Fakir opened his eyes and reached out to grab the pendant before staring at it bleakly. "Mytho," he murmured softly, "You don't understand anything. What returning your heart would really mean…" 'The Monster Raven would be freed from its imprisonment. If it is unleashed…and neither of them are prepared to face it… I know if that were to happen I would fight to my last breath to keep _everyone_ safe,' the young man's gaze was haunted, 'And if I should fall…that will be it. My nightmares will become reality.' The sound of fluttering wings from the window startled the troubled young knight out of his thoughts and he surged to his feet as he spun to face the sound. A raven was fluttering its wings as it came in for a landing and fixed him with a ruby-eyed gaze the second its perch was secure.

The young knight gasped softly as the raven's form melted into a black envelope resting against the window pane. Cautiously, he walked over and retrieved the envelope before opening it. His eyes narrowed sharply as he read the message within and started to shake with barely repressed fury as he reached the end. **Invitation to the wedding of Mr. Mytho and Miss Kraehe. Witness is Mr. Fakir. The wedding will be celebrated at midnight at the church.** "Damn you, Kraehe," he hissed angrily, "Are you trying to say I'm not a threat?!" The furious young man threw the invitation to the ground as he spun and stalked over to his dresser to throw his uniform back on. She was going to learn just how wrong she was, but he needed a weapon first. Unfortunately for him, that mean he was going to have to do the one thing he had been putting off for years now. He'd have to talk to Charon. It was the only way he could retrieve the weapon he needed. 'The Lohengrin Sword,' Fakir thought as he stalked out the door, 'A blade that may only be wielded by a true knight. By taking up that sword I will have to fully accept my position as Mytho's, no, the Prince's knight. There will be no going back. If my fate has not been sealed before now…it will be then.' He clenched his fists as he narrowed his eyes grimly, 'As if it matters what happens to me. I swore an oath, damn it! I will keep it one way or the other! If taking up the Lohengrin Sword and accepting my fate is the only way then I will do so regardless of whether I am afraid or not!'

The dark-haired teen made his way determinedly across town towards Charon's shop. Considering every time he'd stopped by the house the past few months the place had been abandoned, the shop was his best chance of finding the smith. Fakir was honestly not expecting the conversation to go well in the slightest. His father had not taken the realization that the story of 'The Prince and The Raven' was in the process of playing out very well all those years ago, and it had driven him to try and shield his son from the events. Of course, by that point it was far too late. His younger self had already gotten inextricably tangled up in matters. Charon never seemed to understand that, though, and kept trying to convince the young knight to abandon his friend which just plain wasn't going to happen…ever.

For his part, the young man felt betrayed by this lack of trust from the smith and lashed out. They simply could not communicate anymore without that conflict being dragged back up again. The fact that the older man knew Fakir better than anyone, however, meant that when they did argue he always nailed the teen's most vulnerable points. This never ended well. Chances were pretty good that this conversation was going to go about as well as every other one over the last four years. Still, he had to at least try. It was well after dark by the time the young knight arrived at the smith's shop. He hesitated, briefly, outside the door before he growled quietly under his breath and opened it. It was time to get this over with.

The front room had its normal assortment of suits of armor and weapons scattered around collecting dust. Most of them were collector's pieces Charon was in the process of fixing up for wealthy patrons, but a few were original works he'd put together himself as commissions. The stock changed pretty regularly because of this. Fakir looked around curiously as he walked towards the back room where the forge lay; there was a light coming from under the door. Most likely that's where his father would be. The dark-haired teen hesitated for a split second before he took a deep breath and opened the door, "Charon." The smith was sitting at his work table with an ornamental battle-axe in his hands, and turned to look back at his son in surprise, "Fakir…" The young man ignored the stunned greeting and proceeded to jump right into matters as he asked, "Where is the sword?" Charon frowned disapprovingly, "I haven't seen you in ages, and I don't even merit a greeting? There are many swords in my shop." The young knight knew the older man knew exactly which sword he was talking about.

"No," he stated patiently yet firmly, " _that_ sword. The Lohengrin Sword." The smith stiffened and a strangled gasp escaped him as the dark-haired teen walked over to stand next to the table. "I need it," he continued, "I have to protect Mytho from the ravens." The sandy haired man closed his eyes and frowned, "I can't give it to you." "What," Fakir gasped in disbelief. "That sword should only be wielded by a knight," the older man elaborated. "You promised that you would let me have it," the dark-haired young man protested. "That was when you were a child," Charon shot his son a disapproving look. The green-eyed teen clenched his fists as he glared at the man who raised him, "Mytho is getting his heart back. Princess Tutu has appeared. The ravens are returning as well. The legend you told me about is all becoming reality! If that is the case, then I am the knight in the story reborn." The smith stiffened as his son spoke and the disapproving look on his face only grew as he continued, yet the young man persisted. Fakir placed his hands on the table and leaned forward as he concluded, "If I am the knight, then I should be able to use the Lohengrin Sword."

Charon raised his eyes to meet those of the youth he raised and intoned sternly, "Fakir, leave Mytho be from now on." The young knight's eyes widened in disbelief, "What did you say?!" How could he even _say_ that to him? Yet the older man was not finished. "You shouldn't get involved in this accursed tale any more than you are already," he stated firmly. It took all of the dark-haired teen's self-control to not yell that it was already too late for him. His fate was as good as sealed. "Why are you saying that now," the young man snarled angrily before he calmed slightly, "The day you took me in after my parents had died, you told me, remember? You told me about how my birthmark resembled one that was passed down in local legends. That you were sure I would become strong because it was proof that I was the reincarnation of a brave knight who always stood by his prince. I had just lost everything, Charon. How else could you expect me to take that other than to conclude that if I became strong enough I might never have to lose _anyone_ I cared for ever again? It meant more to me than _anything_. Before I knew it, it became a source of pride for me. I started looking into those old legends and found an old copy of 'The Prince and The Raven'. I can't even remember how many times I read that old book, yet it was not the knight who I was drawn to but the figure of the Prince. He who was not afraid to put himself into harm's way if it meant he could protect others. I admired him more than anything. I would have given _anything_ to meet someone like that in real life."

Fakir paused to take a quick breath before he continued, "Then, fate suddenly began to move. I found Mytho lying unconscious in the street and ran to grab you because he wasn't moving. You remember how strange it was that his heart wasn't beating yet he was somehow still alive. You addressed him as the prince who lost his heart! I'm not an idiot! I was able to connect him to the Prince from the story easily enough! I was elated, and started spending all of my free time in his company. I even gave him the name Mytho not long afterwards. Maybe it _was_ a mistake for me to spend so much time around him, but I don't regret it. He was the first friend I ever had…even if he could feel nothing for me. Mytho had no emotions. Yet when he saw those who were weak suffering, then, no matter the danger, he would try to protect them without hesitation. He even ran into a burning building to save a bird in a cage hanging outside the third story window…which he then fell from… He was out cold for a week after that and I spent the entire time terrified that he would never wake up. I couldn't let him continue like that! He'd end up getting himself killed! So I made him a promise as soon as he woke up that I have no intention of breaking. I will protect Mytho, because that was the promise I made." 'In fact, I went a step further and swore a full oath to serve as his knight which he accepted,' Fakir admitted internally, 'Which I am still bound by. Charon would be even more upset if I told him about that…best if I keep that to myself.'

Charon stood abruptly and glared back at his son shortly after the young man finished speaking as he challenged harshly, "What you're trying to do isn't for Mytho's sake! It's for your own sake, isn't it, Fakir?!" Fakir stiffened as he whispered hoarsely, "What?" The smith turned to face the teen as he continued tearing into him, "Now that the time to fight has finally arrived, are you sure you aren't afraid you'll follow the same fate as the knight in the story?" A frightened gasp slipped out of the young knightas the page detailing the knight's fate flashed across his mind. Yet still he denied it, "That's not it!" The older man started to walk closer causing the dark-haired teen to back away in response with a stern glare on his face as he persisted in deconstructing his son's motivations, "You kept calling him a good-for-nothing so the prince's heart wouldn't be restored, and you enrolled him at Goldkrone Academy so he could dance as he liked, but that's because you were scared of fighting!"

The green-eyed teen was _not_ afraid of fighting! "You're wrong," he snarled defiantly as his adoptive father continued his advance. "You can't protect Mytho the way you are now," Charon snapped angrily and those words sent a stab of pain through Fakir's chest as they struck home. "Stop it," the young man hissed hoarsely. "Just forget about all this," the smith ordered. "That's enough," the young knight retorted in a slightly pained tone as he reached out to grab a sword leaning on the table before he started to run out of the shop, "Any sword will do!" However, the old smith reacted faster and intercepted him before striking the young man hard across his face. In shock, the dark-haired teen fell backwards against the wall and slid to the ground while holding a hand to his sore cheek. "You're going to stop doing this now," the older man ordered sternly as he gazed down at his son's stunned form, "Do you understand?"

Fakir stared up at the old smith for a few moments before he lowered his gaze and spoke quietly in a thick voice, "Yes… I may be afraid, just as you say, but I want to protect him!" The young knight hunched over his bent knee as fond memories of his friendship with Mytho flashed through his head before he continued brokenly, "That pure, self-sacrificing Mytho…" His heart was clenching in absolute agony and it was all the young man could do to hold his tears back. He _refused_ to let anyone see him cry. Soon, though, he couldn't take it anymore and surged to his feet before sprinting out of the store as fast as he could. He ignored Charon crying his name as he fled. All he cared about was getting away before he couldn't hold back his tears any longer. He made it to a small park nearby that was really little more than a tiny pond and the few trees and shrubs surrounding it. Yet it was isolated and abandoned at this late hour which was really all that mattered to Fakir. He leaned back against a tree right next to the pond as tears started to flow down his face. The heartbroken young man cried quietly as he tilted his head back and his doubts surged through him once more.

"Is Charon right about me," he whispered brokenly, "Can I truly not protect Mytho even if I try my hardest? Am I useless as a knight?" He clenched his eyes shut tightly as he choked back a sob. 'Oh God, what if he's right,' he moaned internally, 'Please no… I can't accept that! I just can't! Mytho needs me!' Yet this was something he had honestly been insecure about for a long time, and Charon's words had amplified that insecurity to the point that it was tearing him apart from the inside. A splash from the nearby pond made drew the heartbroken young man's attention away from his internal torment and pricked his curiosity just enough that he looked down to see what it was. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized the same little yellow duck he'd seen earlier floating in the water in front of him. "You…," he murmured quietly before a weak self-deprecating laugh slipped out of him, "You're seeing me in a pretty disgraceful state here…" The little duck fluttered out of the water and onto the ground before him. It let out a soft, sympathetic sounding quack as it looked up at him with tears, of all things, welling up in its bright blue eyes. A weak smile crossed Fakir's face as he murmured, "Are you crying for my sake?" If so he was deeply touched by the little bird's concern. It was nice that someone cared enough to cry for his sake.

Fakir wondered if maybe, just maybe, this little duck would be willing to tolerate being held. The dark-haired teen honestly needed the comfort, and decided to take a chance. The worst it could do was fly away. He pushed away from the tree and knelt before the small duck before picking it up and cradling it lightly against his chest. To his surprise and unspeakable relief, the little duck not only didn't struggle but cuddled up to him and leaned its head on his shoulder. A shuddering sigh escaped him as he held the duck closer. The warmth of its small, soft, feathery body was soothing as was the flutter of its little heart-beat. This small, helpless, simple creature had, in this one moment, shown him compassion when he needed it the most and he was truly grateful for the little creature. 'Perhaps it is a bit pathetic of me to feel this way,' Fakir admitted to himself as his emotions gradually settled, 'But I think I'm actually starting to see this duck as a friend. Well, so what if it is. It's not like I have that many anyways. If this duck is willing to be my friend then I am willing to return the favor.'

Eventually, the dark-haired young man calmed down and set the duck back down. He reached up to wipe away the residual tears from his eyes before he reached into his pocket to pull out Tutu's pendant. The little duck _had_ been interested in it earlier, and it was as good a present as any. Besides, he'd like to see Princess Tutu try to get her little necklace back from a bird. Birds could fly. People couldn't. Giving the pendant to his little friend would serve his interests just as well as keeping it on his person did. With that thought in mind Fakir tossed the red-stone necklace onto the ground in front of the duck which looked up at him curiously for his actions with a soft quack. "You can have that," he told it kindly, "You wanted it, right?" He started to turn away as his thoughts drifted back towards the magical ballerina and his eyes narrowed in annoyance, 'Princess Tutu. I do not accept you.' The young knight would not let his doubts or fears get in his way. His resolve had returned after the hit it took from Charon's words, but there was one last thing he needed to try before he did anything else. 'I have to overcome my fear,' the dark-haired teen admitted as he walked away from the small pond and his new friend, 'I need to face it at least once more and push passed it if I am to continue.' That meant he had to make yet another trip to the bookstore and revisit the knight's death once more.

The old shopkeeper was reluctant to let Fakir enter the store so late at night as he had been about to close. However, the young man eventually persuaded the balding store owner to leave him in the store and lock him in. The dark-haired teen could let himself out when he was done, and re-lock the door behind him with the spare key he knew the old man kept under the welcome mat. The young knight didn't waste any time in heading up to the second floor and pulling down the book he needed. He didn't bother reading through it, but instead opened the book and flipped through it until he reached the page immediately before the one with the panel depicting the death of the knight. "Don't be afraid," he told himself quietly, "Turn this page with your own hand."

He gripped the corner of the page, hesitated for a moment as his breath caught in his throat, and then…turned it over. The second Fakir's eyes landed on the picture, though, his fear returned with a vengeance and a frightened gasp escaped him as his eyes widened. He could see it happening in his head! His own body being rent in two by the raven's claws as one last agonized scream escaped him… Desperately, he struggled to fight his fear back down as he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth tightly. "I…I…I will not succumb to such a miserable fate," he hissed as he opened his eyes once more, "I will change it. I'll change my fate and Mytho's as well!" He had made up his mind. Whether the story continued or not no longer mattered. He would not accept his fate passively, but fight to change it till the bitter end. 'Besides,' he admitted reluctantly, 'I doubt events can be stopped any longer. Fighting is all I can do now one way or the other.'

The young knight left the bookstore and made his way back to Charon's. He had to try at least once more to obtain a weapon as he couldn't exactly fight without one. Even if it wasn't the Lohengrin Sword he needed a blade. However, when he opened the door to the forge in the back of the shop he was surprised to find the smith in a much different mood. One far more like the man he remembered from his childhood. "I've been waiting for you, Fakir," the old smith greeted calmly without turning around. A soft noise of surprise escaped the dark-haired teen as he realized his father had laid out the Lohengrin Sword on the table with a black outfit folded underneath it. "Do what you must, and have no regrets," the older man told him firmly as he turned to meet his gaze. "Charon…," Fakir murmured quietly in confusion as he watched the man who raised him stand and walk over.

He took a single step forward before he was suddenly drawn into a tight embrace by his father figure. "My son…," Charon murmured fondly as he hugged the young man he had raised. A soft smile spread across the young knight's face as he realized that whatever had changed the man to make him so bitter had finally left him. He had his father back and he slowly raised his own arms to return the embrace. "I missed this," the green-eyed teen whispered, "I missed _you_." "I missed you too," the smith admitted, "But I was so paralyzed by regret and indecision I lashed out when you did not deserve it." "Believe me," the dark-haired young man's grin turned slightly bitter, "I know what that's like. It's a miserable existence."

Charon released his son and led him over to the table where he indicated the clothes, "I bought these for you a while ago, yet I was afraid to give them to you. Some part of me always knew you would become the Prince's knight even though I denied it as hard as I could." "These are…," Fakir murmured quietly as he lifted the shirt free. "Clothes I felt suited the knight you were becoming," the smith clarified, "They should be loose enough for you to fight in without restricting your movements. There are leather pads sewn into the shoulders, chest, elbows, and knees so the whole set can function as rudimentary armor." "Perfect," the young knight nodded with a satisfied grin, "That'll be extremely useful. Thank you, Charon." "Just promise me one thing," the older man asked with a worried frown. "Name it," the dark-haired young man replied as he reached out to pick up the pants as well. "Don't get yourself killed," Charon pleaded.

"I don't intend to," Fakir reassured the smith with a soft smile before he frowned seriously, "I'm going to fight to change my fate and Mytho's as well. I'll find a way. I won't let _anyone_ die." The smith smiled proudly at the young man he'd raised, "You really have become strong, Fakir." The young knight's eyes widened as a surprised gasp slipped out of him before his smile returned. He could not even begin to describe how good it felt to hear his father figure say that. However, he couldn't afford to linger and he swiftly gathered up the rest of the outfit Charon had bought for him and the sword. "I have to leave. I'll have to take Parsival if I'm to make it to the church in time as it is," he admitted, "I'll come back to visit you some other time, all right?" "I'd like that," the old smith smiled before giving his son a serious look, "Now go. Mytho needs you, right?" Fakir nodded back firmly and hurried out the door. He had a wedding to crash.

Fakir changed into his new clothes in the stable before saddling up Parsival and leading him outside. The last thing he did before mounting the docile gelding was fasten the sheathe of the Lohengrin Sword to his belt. That completed, he swung himself up onto his horse's back and signaled him into a canter. The faithful equine responded with a will and together they raced through the dark streets for the church. It was just after midnight when he finally arrived, but he did not stop as he and his mount approached the doors. Instead he leaned forward and encouraged the gelding onwards. Parsival trusted his rider implicitly and charged straight for the solid oak doors. Moments before they'd crash into them, the young knight signaled his horse to jump and the equine obeyed instantly. His mount crashed into the doors and threw them wide open.

The horse walked steadily forwards upon landing on the floor inside as the young knight swept his gaze over the scene he'd burst into. Tutu was there, much to his surprise, and trapped within a cage of what looked like black vines. Yet he dismissed her presence as his attention focused on Kraehe dancing with a clearly unwilling Mytho. His eyes narrowed as he shouted, "Stand down, you filthy raven!" The prince's eyes were wide in surprise as he looked upon his friend, "Fakir…" He looked like a knight… The black-clad ballerina smirked up at him mockingly, "The incompetent fool finally shows up!" Fakir smoothly drew the Lohengrin Sword free of its sheathe as he leapt down from his mount's back. "I won't allow you to get near Mytho," he snarled as he charged towards the Raven Princess. He thrust his blade forward with every intent to run her through, but she did something he did not expect from her. She spun Mytho into the path of his blade as a human shield.

The young knight gasped in surprise and immediately lowered his sword before it could pierce his friend's back. Yet at the same time a horrified scream sounded from where Tutu was trapped, "Kraehe, stop!" Unexpectedly, the Raven Princess responded to the scream and loosened her hold on Mytho with a pained look. The prince couldn't help but notice and looked up at her curiously as he asked, "What's wrong? What is causing you pain?" Kraehe did not respond, but instead vanished once more into her black whirlwind. Fakir slowly walked forward to stand next to his prince with a concerned frown as the raven's vanished. At least the other teen seemed to be unhurt. That was a relief. However, there was still Princess Tutu to be considered and the young knight turned to look back at her. The light glinted off of the pendant around her neck and he felt a twinge of concern for his avian friend. 'She has…the stone back…,' he wondered, 'How did…? Doesn't matter.' "What are you doing," the dark-haired young man challenged harshly, "Hurry up and get out of here! Or do you want to settle this here and now?" To his surprise the white-clad ballerina smiled back at him gently as she stated, "I don't wish to fight you." His eyes widened in amazement at that. He could have sworn she hated him, yet she only smiled kindly at him as she curtsied, turned, and ran out of the church.

Fakir shook his head as he returned his sword to its sheathe and turned to look at Mytho. "Kraehe didn't hurt you, did she," he asked. The prince shook his head, "No, I'm fine." The young knight relaxed slightly, "Good. I know it's inconvenient, but I need to stop by Charon's to get Parsival settled for the night and retrieve my uniform before we head back to the dorms." "I don't mind," the white-haired teen smiled, "I haven't seen Charon in a while. I'd like the chance to say 'hi'." The dark-haired young man led his friend over to his where his horse was patiently waiting and helped him climb up before mounting up himself. "Hang on," the taller teen directed his friend before he wheeled his horse around and gave a flick of the reins as he clicked his tongue. The equine immediately sprung into a brisk walk before accelerating to a canter on that signal and raced back towards his stable. Mytho held on as he considered his friend thoughtfully.

"You seem different," the golden-eyed young man observed when they were almost back. "How so," Fakir inquired distractedly. He was paying more attention to guiding Parsival than anything right then. "You're happier," the prince concluded. "Is that so," the young knight mused thoughtfully, "I guess I am. A little at least." "I'm glad," the white-haired teen smiled, "I like it better when you're happy. It makes me feel happy too." The dark-haired young man blinked in surprise at that, but didn't respond as they had just arrived at his home. The two teens dismounted and the shorter of the two followed his friend as he led his mount back into the stable. He watched curiously as his taller friend removed the gelding's tack and rubbed him down before giving him some hay with a fond pat on the neck. "I didn't know you liked animals," Mytho admitted. "To be fair I never really demonstrated it," the green-eyed young man shrugged as he pulled down his uniform, "So you had no way of knowing." He then gave his friend an annoyed look before stating flatly, "I'd rather you not watch me change, so if you could just turn around?" "Okay," the other teen agreed before turning away.

Fakir swiftly got changed back into his uniform and stashed his knight outfit on a nearby shelf with his new sword before walking over and patting his friend lightly on the shoulder. "We can go now," he informed the other calmly. Charon, unfortunately for Mytho, had already turned in for the night while Kraehe was being dealt with. The two young men made their way back across town to the dorms in companionable silence. However, the entire way the prince kept giving his taller friend puzzled looks as though he kept being reminded of _something_ yet wasn't entirely sure what that something was. It was a bit irritating, but the taller young man wasn't in the mood to call attention to his friend's strange behavior. The dark-haired teen was slightly ahead when they made it back to the dorms and opened the gate for his prince to walk through as he stood off to the side. When the golden-eyed teen gave him a curious look, Fakir merely rolled his eyes and gestured for the shorter young man to go ahead of him. Mytho smiled and nodded before walking through with the young knight following behind.

However, as he turned to close the gate behind him he noticed a familiar light-red cowlick sticking up from behind the low hedges next to the walkway. He sighed in annoyance as he looked down and saw Ahiru on the ground crawling along slowly. He closed his eyes in exasperation before he snapped, "Hey!" The red-head gasped and looked up at him sheepishly, "Eep…" "Don't give me that," he countered coldly as he opened his eyes, "What are you doing out this late?" The duck-like girl started to babble, "What am I doing? There's only one thing that I could be doing here this late. That." "That," Fakir repeated in confusion. What the hell was that supposed to mean? "Yes, that! Well, see you," the blue-eyed girl replied before she shot to her feet and absolutely failed in her attempt at the world's most nonchalant walk.

"Hey," The dark haired teen demanded, "What do you mean by 'that'?" Yet before he could question her further his eyes caught the gleam of a familiar red stone resting on her chest. "What," he breathed in disbelief as his eyes widened. 'It couldn't be,' his thoughts raced, 'There's no way it could be her, but… Damn it, there is no mistaking that stone!' "Wait," he called out as Ahiru walked away and she hesitated for a split second. "That pendant…," he started to ask but she immediately raced away the second the words left his mouth. "Good night," she yelled back as she fled. Fakir was absolutely stunned as he stared after her. The last person he expected to be the magical ballerina was that red-head. Yet here was no denying it. Ahiru, of all people, was… "Princess Tutu," he breathed in disbelief.

 **A/N:** And that is chapter ten done. In case you haven't already worked it out, yes I am working off of the translated version of the original Japanese dialogue. Specifically two of them: a fan-sub I found and liked, and my new copy of the DVDs that I got for Christmas with the official translation. Sometimes I go with one version, sometimes I go with the other, and sometimes I patch them together. I also have a Japanese/English dictionary that I use as a reference, so every time I come across a section that doesn't look right I check it. Which means sometimes I don't use _either_ version and make my own translation; that's why the dialogue doesn't always match up, but I'm not going to apologize for it. This would be boring for you all to read if everything matched up perfectly. This chapter was fun. It was very fun. Then next chapter will also be fun. I am also realizing, the more that I write, that I am sticking in a lot of friendship fluff between Fakir and Mytho. I like friendship fluff. I like the friendship between those two characters about as much as I like the pairing of Fakir and Ahiru. Which is saying something. So you can expect more of this as I try to squeeze as much in as I can before season 2 hits… which is when the plot says I have to stop. But that's okay because then I get to enjoy Fakir's misery and write it! Yay for canon character torture! Even if it is all emotional it is still torture. No wonder he keeps trying to kill me… I am pure evil to this guy… Meh. It's how I show affection. I'm messed up like that. See you all next time. **Present day edit: Removed the bit about Emotionless!Mytho not getting the whole thing where birds can fly while he can't thing. It didn't make sense to bring that up this late in the story. Also fixed an error I could have sworn I'd corrected the first time I edited this…apparently I just made the same mistake twice. Stupid 'q' key…**


	11. Abducted

**A/N:** LAST CHAPTER BEFORE START OF SEASON ONE CLIMAX! WHEEEEEEEEEEE! I have absolutely no shame. Less Fakir screen-time, but that is traded off with our first substantial interaction between him and Ahiru that isn't hostile! YES! FINALLY! The show needed more of those… Just to let you know, I will probably be sticking in an extra chapter that has nothing to do with a canon episode between the end of season one and the start of season two. I have my reasons which I will be going into later. As in that chapter's author's notes later. Don't really have anything else to say here, so let's get this chapter started!

 **Disclaimer:** All I have to say is thank goodness for sleep spells and sympathetic silver haired mages who like to hang around my headspace since it is better than being dead. Also I don't own Princess Tutu.

Chapter 11: Abducted!

That night was not an easy one for the dark-haired young man for his sleep was riddled with troubling dreams. They weren't quite nightmares, per se, yet they were certainly unnerving. Unnerving enough to make his sleep truly restless; then, shortly before dawn, the strange dreams…evolved into a nightmare similar to one he'd had almost 4 days ago. _Fakir opened his eyes to find himself standing in the mist shrouded forest once more. He was dressed the same as in the last time he'd dreamed of this place complete with sword. He immediately started scanning the mist until he finally spotted the two figures in the distance. 'Mytho,' he thought as he started to walk forward, 'And Tutu.' The figures were standing close to each other, but he did not run this time. He kept his pace slow and even. As he drew close he realized the ballerina's figure was no longer fully obscured by the mist. Her facial features were still somewhat blurred out, even though he knew full well what she looked like, yet the rest of her was clearly distinguishable aside from her feet. The mist swirled far too thickly across the ground for them to be visible. "Princess Tutu," the dark-haired knight frowned as he stopped to stand before both figures, "Your presence is unneeded. Leave." Much like last time, the ballerina only raised her hands to cover her face in a mime of absolute sorrow and turned away. The young knight froze at that since this act had preceded the appearance of a raven swarm before._

" _Mytho, run," Fakir ordered as he drew his sword and started scanning the surroundings, "Hurry!" The prince said nothing as he obeyed and disappeared into the mist. Seconds later, the ravens appeared only instead of swarming up from the ground they fell upon the young knight from above. "The only way you are getting at the prince is over my dead body," the young man snarled as he swung his blade at the bird-shaped monsters. Unfortunately, his battle against the creatures went about as well as it had the last time and he was gradually overwhelmed by the swarm. The last thing he saw before the ravens cut him off entirely was Princess Tutu reaching out a hand to him desperately as though she could save him. He almost reached back before she was cut off from him and the only thing he could do was fight for his life. A choked gasp escaped him as a sudden ripping agony shot through his torso and he started to fall to the ground. The ravens cleared for a moment as he fell to reveal Tutu once more. She was on her knees weeping. His last thought before darkness claimed him was, 'Is she…crying…for my sake?'_

Green eyes snapped open as their owner shot up from his mattress with a quiet gasp. Fakir breathed heavily for a few moments before the adrenaline rush faded and soon calmed down enough to wonder about the strange turn the nightmare had taken at the end. "Why would Tutu cry over my death," he murmured with a puzzled frown. On the rare occasions where Princess Tutu featured in his nightmares she had never before shed tears for his sake. Admittedly, she had also never before been civil to him in real life. Not to mention there was the truth he had discovered regarding her identity. He still had yet to fully come to terms with the fact that _Ahiru_ of all people was Tutu. It was driving him up a wall.

Unfortunately, because of his lingering exhaustion from the lack of sleep he had still yet to catch up on and the fact that his sleep that night had been frustratingly restless, he was having a hard time working things out in his head. 'My mind does _not_ work right when I am tired,' the young knight grumbled internally as he rubbed at his temples in an attempt to relieve the headache forming there. It was seriously starting to get to him…this lack of adequate sleep. Fakir sighed heavily as he glanced towards the clock on the wall. He was barely able to make out the hands on its face and groaned quietly as he realized it was six in the morning. There was no real point in trying to fall back to sleep when, at most, he only had an hour before he would have had to wake up for class anyways. 'May as well get dressed and head in early for some extra practice time,' the dark-haired teen admitted with an irritated sigh, 'Dancing usually helps me think anyways. Under the circumstances…I need the assistance.'

His mind made up the young knight quickly got out of bed, got dressed, wrote a quick note to Mytho informing his friend that he was heading in early to practice before classes started, jotted down a quick postscript asking his friend to grab him something to eat if he could when he headed in, and left the dorms as quietly as possible. Hopefully, the other teen would be considerate enough to pick up breakfast for his friend on the way in. Ordinarily, Fakir would take care of it himself, but the café he normally stopped at wasn't open this early, nor was any other eatery in town. The thought of going the entire morning without eating was not a nice one. Admittedly, he'd done so a few times in the past, but never when he was _this_ tired. He didn't want to find out what the consequences would be of combining exhaustion with being hungry any time soon.

The sky was not fully dark as he opened the gates, but in that strange half-light that precedes the dawn. The air was still and everything was quiet as Fakir walked through the deserted streets. Far from being unnerved by the empty silence, the young man enjoyed the early morning tranquility. Even the chill in the air was welcome as it served to shock his tired mind into a state far closer to full alertness than it had been back in their room. The gates to the Academy weren't locked, though they were shut, when he arrived. The dark-haired teen casually opened them and slipped through before making his way across the bridge to the Main Hall. It didn't take him much longer to reach the main ballet building where he immediately made his way to the changing rooms to grab his practice clothes.

Fakir glanced out the windows once he reached the main lesson room and sighed softly as he noticed a light drizzle had started to fall. The light of dawn was softened by the clouds as it illuminated the room. It was a pleasant effect, but to the young knight all it meant was that the lower night temperatures were going to linger until at least an hour after the rain stopped. Which meant it was going to be cold and wet; not a combination he enjoyed. Still, that was something to worry over after his practice session was finished. The dark-haired teen started stretching before moving into a series of warm-up drills.

Once he finished with that, he searched through the music cylinders before he decided on Beethoven's Coriolan Overture. It suited his mood. He got the music player set up, and turned it on. As he started to dance his thoughts turned to the matter that was troubling him the most: Ahiru…and Princess Tutu. 'Princess…Tutu,' he mused as he flowed through the motions of his practice routine, 'That girl?' The more Fakir thought about it the more he wondered how he'd never made the connection before. They had the same hair color, the same eye color, were both naïve, were both surprisingly brave, both clearly cared about Mytho's well-being, and both were completely ignorant of the events detailed in 'The Prince and The Raven'. Really, the biggest difference was the fact that Tutu was taller, and had better coordination.

As he danced, the young knight recalled Tutu's oddly courteous behavior the night before. Considering that in the encounter immediately prior to that one she had clearly considered him a threat to Mytho's safety the change was more than a little startling. Still, it wasn't really important; just odd. Fakir started to consider whether Princess Tutu's identity really affected anything beyond his own perceptions of her. In the end, they didn't. Her identity was meaningless to his efforts. "Hmph," he scoffed quietly before returning to his thoughts, 'It doesn't matter who Princess Tutu is! I will protect Mytho in my own way.' He recalled Edel's continuous prompting for him to join forces with Tutu and wondered if the strange woman had known the truth all along. She probably did.

Whatever the green-haired woman might be, she was astonishingly well informed about the events unfolding in Goldkrone. Fakir still had no intention of joining forces with Ahiru's alter-ego _or_ Ahiru when you got right down to it. He wasn't about to team up with someone he knew next to nothing about, and the red-head's double life proved how little he really knew about the girl. No, he was better off protecting his friend on his own. 'I will protect him from that Monster Raven,' he vowed fervently, 'Without fear!' Admittedly, the issue of his fear was not one so easily resolved. He was pretty sure he could suppress it, but…it's persistence was troubling. It kept bubbling up without warning, and it was a struggle to keep it contained. He'd have to find some way to deal with it permanently before it got away from him.

Fakir continued to dance as his thoughts drifted back to Ahiru once more. More specifically, the issue of Ahiru's –and by extension Tutu's – ignorance; it was honestly that aspect of their connection that was bothering him the most. When he had believed the red-head to be uninvolved her ignorance had been a good thing. It meant she was safely uninvolved. But with the clumsy ballerina really being Tutu…this was a dangerous situation. She was completely ignorant of the consequences of her actions and the worst part was he couldn't blame her for it. Princess Tutu's ignorance, the one thing about her that irritated him the most, was _his fault_. The young man had been extremely thorough about ensuring Ahiru remained uninformed about 'The Prince and The Raven'. He'd made it impossible for her to learn anything on her own. This was not a situation that could be allowed to continue as it was. The red-haired girl was just as deeply involved as he was and faced a fate that was almost as grim as the one facing him. She was lucky. All she had to do to avoid her death was never speak her feelings for Mytho aloud. Fakir's fate was not so easily evaded. 'Is she even aware of the risks Tutu's role carries,' he wondered tangentially.

Her behavior would indicate she wasn't, but considering how effectively she had kept her identity a secret… He wasn't willing to make assumptions based on her behavior alone. Still, none of this resolved the issue of how little she actually knew about what was going on. Fakir forced his thoughts back on track as he tried to work out how to fix that particular problem. 'Should I tell her,' the dark-haired teen frowned uneasily, 'About the story and the fate that awaits us all if it proceeds to its conclusion unimpeded?' His expression darkened as he exhaled a sharp huff of air, 'No. I won't deny that it is something she _needs_ to know, but I will not be the one to tell her. There is no way she would trust my words as being fact.' She had no reason to trust him after how he'd treated her over the past month or so. He had not been kind. Admittedly, her reactions didn't always make sense. He _still_ had no idea why she had been so polite last night. However, he knew full well that politeness did not always equate trust. His interactions with Rue over the years were proof enough of that. 'So if I can't _tell_ her,' he mused, 'I suppose my best bet is to just count on her raging curiosity over all things Mytho to lead her to the book. Maybe I could check out the library's copy and just…leave it out somewhere she'd be sure to find it… That'd probably be the fastest way, but there's no guarantee she'd read enough of it. Still, it's better than doing nothing.'

The song started to draw to its close, and so too did the young man's routine. He'd worked through most of the things that had been bothering him, but one matter still remained. Was Princess Tutu still a threat? Honestly, he wasn't so sure about that. Fakir simply could not believe that Ahiru would willingly bring harm upon Mytho if she had a choice. The one thing he never doubted about her was her feelings for his friend. It was plain to see that she adored the prince. There was no way she would ever wish to see him hurt. However, the red-head _had_ brought harm of a sort to the golden-eyed young man already. The week of nightmares his friend had suffered was not something the young knight could overlook. Not to mention the turmoil the other teen had experienced as he tried to make sense of his newly returned emotions. The dark-haired young man knew she regretted it. She had admitted as much during their first actual encounter. Yet, she truly believed returning Mytho's heart was for the best.

Fakir wondered if she had come to that conclusion on her own or if someone had guided her to it. Ahiru was painfully innocent in many ways. Edel had been right about that much. However, that left her dangerously vulnerable to manipulation. He had no idea who had put the clumsy girl up to the task of taking on the magical ballerina's role, but he doubted whoever it had been had told her what the consequences were. Fakir wouldn't have been surprised if she had been tricked into it, and if she had been tricked into taking on Princess Tutu's role so easily… She could be manipulated into acting against Mytho's best interests. Yet Ahiru had also had a point that Mytho was better off with his heart returned. As much as he hated to admit it, there was no way he could stop the story at this point and any attempt he made would only hurt his friend. Fakir wasn't willing to go that far…not after how terrible he felt after striking the other teen. Not to mention, reluctant as he was to admit it even to himself, seeing the white-haired teen genuinely happy and enjoying himself gave the young knight a warm feeling he honestly enjoyed. He would no longer seek to prevent the return of his friend's heart.

Was Princess Tutu a threat? He had to conclude that the answer to that question was both yes…and no. She had the potential to become a threat to Mytho's safety, but not of her own will. 'I will not treat her as an enemy any longer,' he decided as the final notes rang out, 'Yet I do not consider her an ally. For the moment, I will call a truce of sorts. At least until I learn more about the sort of person that girl really is.' Fakir let out a relieved sigh as he released the final pose he had taken. He felt a lot better now that he had his thoughts fully worked out and had actually come to a decision on how to deal with the entire Ahiru being Tutu matter. Now all he had to do was talk to the girl. For all that he was confident in his conclusion that she was Princess Tutu he still had to confirm his suspicions…and the only way he could do that was by talking to her. The young knight brought a hand up to wipe the sweat from his brow as he frowned thoughtfully, 'Of course, considering how fast she fled from me last night she may not be _willing_ to talk. She _is_ afraid of me, after all. Guess my regret was justified after all…'

To Fakir's infinite relief, the rain didn't last long and cleared up after a mere half-hour. They day looked as though it would be mostly clear with scattered clouds. Mytho met up with him roughly a half hour before classes started with a concerned look on his face. "Is everything all right, Fakir," the white-haired teen asked. The young knight sighed before flashing his friend a quick smile, "Everything's fine. I just woke up early and felt the time would be better spent practicing than hanging around the dorms." The golden-eyed teen was surprised to see a smile cross his normally stoic friend's face, but smiled back in relief, "I see. That makes sense." The two young men still had plenty of time before class started and opted to walk along the paths snaking across the campus lawn as they continued to talk.

"Do you think Charon would mind if I stopped by after class today," Mytho inquired, "I never got the chance to yesterday." "I doubt he would," Fakir shrugged, "But he might be busy in the shop. Yesterday was the first time I'd seen him in a while in spite of my having stopped by the house several times these past few weeks." The dark-haired young man conveniently left out that he had also been actively avoiding the smith up until then. "He's that busy," the prince frowned uncertainly, "Maybe I should hold off on visiting until things calm down a bit, then." "Whatever you feel is best," the young knight replied passively as he scanned the campus grounds. He was keeping an eye out for Ahiru. The sooner he found her, the sooner they could have their conversation, and the sooner he could start puzzling her out.

Unfortunately, when Fakir caught sight of the girl he'd been looking for the situation was far from ideal for a conversation. She was with two other girls he vaguely recognized, he figured they were probably her friends, and they seemed to be in the middle of a discussion of their own. The path he and Mytho were taking would end up taking them right passed the trio, and he could only pray that they could pass by without incident. However, the universe was not that merciful. As they drew close the two young men heard one of the girls saying, "Well then, it'll have to be a present!" It was the pink-haired one who had spoken. The blonde girl on Ahiru's other side then piped up, "Oh, that might be good! You might even be able to find out how he feels about you too!" That, regrettably, triggered the white-haired teen's curiosity. The dark-haired young man had to suppress an eye-twitch as his friend froze, looked over to where the girls were sitting, and blurted out, "Really?" All three turned to look at the two teens, and Fakir quickly schooled his face back into his normal neutral expression. However, he could not help staring intently at the red-head sandwiched between the other two girls.

The blonde had pinched the poor girl's cheeks so hard her lips were forced into a pursed expression that frankly looked ridiculous. It also looked more than a little painful. He had to admit he felt a twinge of pity for the trapped red-head. The three girls were clearly surprised, but only Ahiru looked slightly nervous as she looked back. It was only to be expected, though. He'd put a lot of effort into making her fear him up till now and it wasn't as though she had any way of knowing he was done with that. Mytho started to walk closer as he asked curiously, "If you give someone a present, you'll know how they feel about you?" "Oh my, you heard us," the pink-haired girl exclaimed as her blonde friend tittered irritatingly before they both started whispering to each other. "When you say present, do you mean just anything," the golden-eyed teen inquired. This time both girls giggled irritatingly before they started whispering. Fakir's pity for the trapped red-head spiked as he noticed how she was looking increasingly uncomfortable over whatever her two companions were whispering about.

To the dark-haired teen's surprise, Mytho's next question was directed at Ahiru, "If it was for you, Ahiru, what would you like?" 'Why ask her,' Fakir wondered as the red-head's two companions shot his friend shocked looks, 'She can't exactly speak with her cheeks being squeezed like that.' "Ahiru would accept absolutely _anything_ ," the pink-haired girl blurted out loudly. "If it's for her, anything and everything," the blonde continued. "As long as it's given with love," the pink haired girl picked up. "Even jewels or gold bars," the blonde finished. "Love," the prince mused quietly, "So you need love?" The young knight had turned to glance back as the two girls were rambling for he had noticed their anthropomorphic feline instructor approaching. He doubted the man would be able to resist interjecting since love was apparently the topic at hand, and he was not disappointed. "Mr. Mytho," Mr. Katze interrupted smoothly as his friend turned to look as well, "You had a special lesson about being in love yesterday, but it seems you need a special lesson about true love as well." 'He really doesn't,' Fakir grumbled internally. "Love and true love are different," Mytho asked curiously. That was enough to set the marriage obsessed feline off as he replied passionately, "Of course! If you cannot understand that you cannot get… get married!"

Fortunately, instead of launching into one of his marriage related rants the feline snapped out of it and stretched like a normal cat to calm himself down the rest of the way before he continued, "Mr. Fakir, would you like to join our lesson?" "I'll pass," Fakir declined coolly. He had absolutely no interest in such things. Mr. Katze's tail twitched in agitation at his disinterested response before he returned his attention to Mytho, "Well then, Mr. Mytho, let us go." Mytho nodded and walked over to join the cat man before they both started to walk away. The young knight watched them walk away a few moments more before he returned his attention to Ahiru as he turned back to look at her. The dark-haired teen started to walk over and did his best to ignore the starry-eyed looks on her two companion's faces. Just his luck that the two girls with her were among his admirers… Malachite green eyes met clear blue as he stared intently at the red-head. She looked even more anxious than she had when she'd first noticed him as she gazed back. 'I wonder,' he mused as he took in her expression, 'Is she nervous because she is intimidated by me…or because she knows that I know her secret?' It didn't really matter, and he couldn't exactly initiate a conversation with witnesses. Not over her identity as Tutu. He wasn't the sort to reveal her secret so carelessly. Fakir gave a quiet scoff before he turned and walked away. He'd find another opportunity later.

In spite of his willingness to wait, the next chance didn't come until after classes were done for the day. She had been walking across the bridge linking the lecture hall to the main ballet building lost in thought when their paths crossed. No one else was around, so Fakir didn't hesitate to address her once she registered him standing in front of her. She looked surprised to see him, "Fakir." "I'd like to ask you something," he told her before requesting firmly as he walked forward, "Come with me." Ahiru gave him an uneasy look, but turned to follow him once he passed her. They walked in silence as he led her to an empty practice room. The young knight moved over to stand in front of the massive window that provided light for the room while the red-head stood off to the side and watched him warily.

He considered her in silence for a few moments as he wondered how to bring up the topic; the last thing he wanted was to scare her off. Fortunately, he didn't have to initiate matters because her curiosity was apparently stronger than her fear of him. "What did you want to ask me," she inquired quietly. Fakir stated evenly, "Princess Tutu…" The girl made a high pitched noise that sounded almost like a duck's quack before she covered her mouth and her eyes widened. That reaction alone was enough to confirm his suspicions yet he continued softly, "You are her, aren't you?" She relaxed slightly when he didn't make any move towards her and he scoffed as he turned again to look out the window. "I'm surprised, to be honest," he admitted before his voice dropped into a resigned tone, "Out of all people, it had to be you…"

He still firmly believed that she was the last person who should have been involved in this blasted story…particularly in Tutu's role. Yet it wasn't something he could have prevented considering she had likely been involved long before he had even known she had an interest in his friend. He knew that and accepted it. That didn't mean he was happy about it, though. "I'd like to ask you something as well," Ahiru stated and the young knight turned to look at her with a quiet noise of acknowledgement. "You're also fighting to protect Mytho, right," she asked seriously before her expression turned pleading, "Then why did you try to shatter his heart? Why?" He wasn't surprised she was fixated on that. Not when she was so intent on returning the prince's missing heart shards. However, he doubted she'd understand his reasoning – let alone his motivations – and chose instead to dismiss her question as he replied sternly, "That doesn't matter anymore. The story can no longer be stopped." The red-head clearly had no idea what he was talking about as a look of absolute befuddlement crossed her face, "The story?" "If you're going to restore his heart shards, go ahead," Fakir told her quietly, "No matter what the outcome, I will protect Mytho." To his surprise a hopeful look grew on Ahiru's face as he took a few steps towards him, "Then let's work together, and…"

The young knight cut her off sharply, "I won't." The girl looked disappointed as she asked, "Why?" He had a number of reasons, really. Yet he went with the simplest and most basic of them for his response as he turned to walk out of the room, "I don't trust you." The dark-haired young man simply was not capable of working alongside someone he couldn't trust to watch not only his back, but the prince's as well. He didn't really know the clumsy ballerina, and that meant he couldn't trust her…not yet. Fakir was confused by why she was so willing to work with _him_ though. All of their interactions up to this one, and possibly the one at the dorm gates, had been hostile to some degree. She _should_ hate him or at least be too afraid of him to be willing to work with him. The fact that, for some reason, she _wasn't…_ didn't make sense.

Fakir made his way to his house after leaving the Academy to grab the Lohengrin Sword. Mytho had headed back to the dorms on his own the second classes let out, so the young knight wasn't too worried about his friend. He wanted to run through a few katas with it before anything more happened. Last night he hadn't had time to worry about familiarizing himself with the blade, and was actually relieved he hadn't actually been required to use it much. The young man knew that different swords also handled differently. Even if they were of a similar type the balance and heft could vary widely. He needed to take the time to learn how his new sword handled in combat…or at least the closest he could simulate. That meant running through several drills.

Charon was in the stable feeding Parsival when he arrived. "Ah, Fakir," the smith greeted with a smile, "I wasn't expecting you to visit _this_ soon." The young knight flinched before he replied guiltily, "Actually, I only stopped by to pick up my sword. I wanted to practice with it a bit before the next time I had to fight." The older man chuckled and gave his son an understanding look, "It's all right. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt because you over or under compensated in a fight." Fakir sighed in relief that his father understood and shot the man a quick smile as he headed for where he had stashed the blade, "I'll stop by some other time. I promise." "I'll see you then," Charon smiled kindly as he patted his son on the shoulder before walking out of the stable. The dark-haired teen smiled again briefly before his serious expression returned as he grabbed his sword. He had work to do.

The young knight spent most of the remainder of the afternoon getting used to his new sword. Unexpectedly, he found it didn't take him long to adjust to using the Lohengrin Sword instead of his practice blade. The knightly blade felt more natural in his hands than any other sword he'd ever practiced with. Yet Fakir continued to practice well after he had fully adjusted to wielding the blade. Mostly because he wanted to be absolutely _certain_ that he wouldn't make any mistakes in combat. That was how you got killed. The sun was near the horizon when he finished, but it was still about an hour before sunset if he judged its position correctly.

The dark-haired teen returned his sword to the shelf he'd stashed it on the night before, gave Parsival a fond pat on the neck which the horse returned with a light nudge, and left to return to the dorms. He still had yet to start working on the paper Mr. Katze had assigned with everything that had happened in the past few days, and decided it was high time he did. Mytho was hard at work on his own paper when Fakir entered their room and only greeted his taller friend with a distracted wave. The young knight didn't bother trying to talk to his friend and instead grabbed the first of the books he'd chosen on Beethoven to start researching. The two young men spent the rest of the evening working on their respective assignments; the prince on writing his actual paper, and the knight on taking notes for reference.

Eventually, the two teens set aside their work and got ready for bed. Fakir was lying back with his arms folded behind his head relaxing when Mytho finally spoke to him, "Fakir." "What is it," the dark-haired teen asked without opening his eyes. "I'm thinking of giving a gift to Tutu," the other teen stated cautiously. "I see," the taller young man replied passively. Considering his truce with Ahiru, he no longer had any real reason to object to his friend interacting with her alter-ego. If he wanted to give her a present then the young knight was fine with that. The prince was surprised by his friend's lack of objection and turned to look at him, "You're not mad?" "Do what you want," the reclining young man stated evenly. Keeping Mytho confined, using words to control him, and micromanaging every aspect of his friend's life to protect him was no longer a viable option. The golden-eyed teen could think for himself now and was not likely to mindlessly obey orders as he once had. Therefore, Fakir had made the decision to abandon his old methods the day after he restored power to the Prince's Sword.

He vowed he would protect his friend as a knight was always meant to…through steel and deed. Not that the other teen understood any of this, and the dark-haired young man wasn't about to explain himself just yet. There was no need. The prince gave his reclining friend a considering look before he requested, "Please don't turn your sword against Tutu. Please, Fakir, promise me." The young knight opened his eyes briefly at that. Unfortunately, this was one promise Fakir couldn't make. If Ahiru was ever manipulated into acting directly against his friend he would have no choice but to raise his sword against her. His oath demanded it. A silent sigh slipped out of him before he closed his eyes again and replied, "I can't make that promise." Mytho made a soft noise like he was about to protest before he turned away and looked down at his mattress. He didn't say anything more.

That night was one untroubled by nightmares, which was of great relief to Fakir. Unfortunately, it still wasn't enough to offset all the sleep he'd lost over the past two weeks. He was still extremely tired. However, catching up on the lost hours was unlikely to happen any time soon. The young man knew he was just going to have to endure it as best he could until summer break…which was still another four months away. Classes that day were entirely uneventful aside from a brief period during their joint lesson with the lower classes where Mytho and Rue were both absent. The young knight was uneasy at the thought that they might be together.

Even though he had made up his mind to no longer restrict his friend's actions he _still_ didn't want him anywhere _near_ the raven-haired ballerina. He'd been getting a bad feeling around her these past few days, and this on top of his already potent dislike for the girl. "Where were you," Fakir quietly hissed to the white-haired teen when he slipped into class a good half-hour after it had started. "With Rue," his friend whispered back which was, regrettably, exactly what the taller teen had _not_ wanted to hear. "I really don't like you being around her," the taller teen murmured with a concerned glance, "She's dangerous." "You keep saying that," Mytho frowned, "Why?" "Instinct, I guess," the young knight replied shortly, "I can't explain any better."

He wasn't lying. Before she had been dangerous because she gave his friend ideas that, back then, he did not approve of. With his change of priorities the old threat she posed was null, but now… Fakir's instincts still registered her as being a threat. Yet he had no idea why. Her behavior hadn't changed in any way. For all he could tell she was the same annoyingly prideful ballerina she had always been. However, the young knight had learned from the incident with Ahiru that just because someone _appeared_ to be normal…didn't mean they were. His instincts were persistently screaming at him that she was even more dangerous now than she had been before, and he had decided to trust them.

Mytho, however, clearly was not if the skeptical look he was giving the taller young man was any indicator. "Trust me on this," Fakir sighed quietly as he watched Mr. Katze abrade one of the intermediate students for zoning out, "Please. If my feelings are right…she could seriously hurt you, Mytho. Maybe even kill you. I don't want that." The prince shook his head and sighed before he responded quietly, "I _do_ trust you…but you are wrong about Rue. She's a good person. I know it." The young knight clenched his fists tightly as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His friend trusted too easily. "At least promise me you'll be careful," he pleaded quietly. "I will," the white-haired teen conceded, "I promise." The dark-haired teen was willing to accept that. Hopefully he'd never have cause to regret his leniency.

This was the last day of classes for the week. Tomorrow was Sunday, and that was the one day off the Academy students and teachers had each week. Most of the students spent that day relaxing or studying. The more dedicated students spent time on campus putting in extra practice, or doing additional projects, for their field of study. The teachers spent the time off much as their students did; either practicing their art or relaxing. Some even got a head start and began their activity of choice the day before. Normally, Fakir was one of those students who put in started his extra practice a day early as was Mytho. However, both teens opted to return to the dorms after classes let out; each for reasons of his own. The dark-haired young man sat heavily on his mattress and flopped backwards onto it with a tired sigh. It was too late in the day for an actual nap, but he could still rest a bit. His friend sat at the table and stared off into space with a small frown. The next two hours passed in relative silence with the sitting teen lost in thought and the reclining one doing his best to relax and _not_ think. Eventually the silence was broken when the prince sighed quietly and stood up which drew his taller friend's attention. "Mytho," Fakir shot his friend a curious look. "I'm going to look for Tutu," Mytho stated evenly as he fiddled with something in his jacket pocket. The green-eyed teen sighed as he sat up and started to stand, "I'll come with you." "No," the white-haired young man shook his head firmly, "I'm going alone."

"It's too dangerous for you to do that," the young knight protested as he walked over to his friend's side, "Kraehe is still out there somewhere! What if she attacks you and neither Tutu nor I can get there in time? I can't let you go alone!" "And I can't let you come with me," the golden-eyed teen frowned, "I can't trust that you won't go after Tutu when I find her." The taller young man was taken aback that the other teen thought he'd attack the magical ballerina without provocation before he recalled that he _had_ done so in the past. Still, that was then and this was now. He had no intention of treating her that way anymore. "Mytho," Fakir started intending to explain that he wasn't going to attack Tutu unless she gave him a _reason_ to, but his friend cut him off sharply. "I'm going now," Mytho stated flatly before he darted for the door catching his knight off guard.

"Mytho, wait," the young knight protested as he ran after the shorter teen, but he had managed to gain a good head start. The dark-haired teen exited the dorms to catch a glimpse of white heading through the gates. He ran over as fast as he could and slowed to a walk as he reached the gates. "Mytho," he called once more in hopes that the other teen would just _listen_ already, but to no avail. The white-haired teen was long gone. 'That _idiot_ ,' the young man grumbled internally as he turned to head for his house with an irritated grunt, 'Even with his heart partly restored he never _listens_!' Fakir wasn't going to just let his friend wander around town completely defenseless. He intended to grab his sword and change into what he was starting to think of as his knight outfit before tracking down the prince. That way he'd be ready for a fight if his fears proved true. He'd protect Mytho whether the other teen wanted him to or not!

Charon was not outside when Fakir arrived, and the dark-haired young man had no intention of stopping in. Yesterday's encounter had been awkward even if the man had understood the younger's intentions easily enough. The young knight wasted no time getting changed and fastening the sword belt, with sheathe, around his waist. He wouldn't be taking Parsival with him this time even if it would make his search faster. This time around he was forsaking efficiency for thoroughness. He glanced up at the threatening clouds covering the sky and frowned. There was a good chance it could start raining while he was searching, but he wasn't really willing to cart around an umbrella. 'If I get wet I get wet,' the teen concluded as he headed away from his home, 'A little rain isn't going to kill me.'

Thunder rumbled out of the sky as he searched the town and the wind kicked up into a light breeze. The young man ignored it. The weather didn't matter. Fakir based his search around locations where his friend had regained a shard of his shattered heart in the past. If he knew Mytho – which he did – the other teen would most likely check those places first as they were locations he had, the knight assumed, encountered Tutu in the past. He supposed he could have also just tracked down Ahiru and tailed her until she ran into the prince, but there was no guarantee she would even learn of what his idiot friend was up to before Kraehe found him. The method he was going with was much more direct. It started to rain lightly just as he reached the last location he knew of: the church. There was no sign of his missing friend. "Dammit, Mytho," the young knight hissed as he looked around agitatedly, "Where could you be?!"

Fakir continued searching and caught a break when he noticed a large number of ravens gathering around a clearing that contained the ruins of an old building that had burned down years ago. "Kraehe," he growled, "She must be after Mytho… Damn it!" The young knight ran for the clearing as fast as he could and reached it in time to hear Tutu's voice asking in a fearful tone, "What are you going to do, Kraehe?" His eyes widened as he noticed that the ballerina was bound tightly in black vines, and Mytho was kneeling on the ground with a pained look on his face. The Raven Princess must have trapped her to keep her from interfering in her designs. However, the young man didn't stop to consider further. This was the time for action, and not thought! Fakir charged forward just as Kraehe and her ravens moved to attack. His strike took out her minions, but she just barely managed to dodge and landed on the ground next to the raised floor of the burned out building. "What," her eyes were wide as she stared at his crouched form in surprise. "Fakir," Tutu cried in relief. The young knight merely glared furiously at his foe as he growled, "Back off, raven!" The Raven Princess' expression shifted slightly at his words, but did not respond.

The young knight raised his blade slightly as he prepared to attack once more. "Stay away from Mytho," Fakir snarled before he charged with a furious cry, "Begone, raven!" However, as he swung his sword, Kraehe jumped high over his head to dodge before throwing a hail of blade-like feathers at him in a counter-attack. Grimly, he raised his blade to block the incoming projectiles and successfully deflected them all. He rushed her a third time just as she landed and his eyes narrowed coldly when she stumbled and fell. This was his chance to finish her once and for all! "Kraehe," he yelled as he closed in, 'I have you this time!' He roared out a defiant battle cry as he raised his sword over his head and prepared to bring it down in a finishing blow. Yet the Raven Princess was not as defenseless as she appeared. She flicked her arm at him and called forth another raven that flew directly towards his face.

Unfortunately, the fear that plagued him was one exceptionally prone to being triggered by such a thing. It awoke with a vengeance, and it caught him so badly off guard that a frightened scream tore out of him before he stumbled and fell to the ground. Fakir's left hand covered his face as he struggled desperately to get his fear back under control, and he barely registered Tutu calling out to him in concern. 'No, I can't let my fear control me like this,' he thought desperately as frightened gasps tore their way out of his throat, 'Mytho needs me! I have to protect him! Tutu's trapped, so there is only me!' A violent shudder tore through him as he panted heavily from both his fear and his desperate efforts to push it _back_. 'I won't fail him,' the dark-haired knight vowed as he started to gain ground against his fear, 'I can't!' He finally registered Tutu's voice asking once more, "Kraehe, what do you mean to do?" That snapped him out of it fully. "Kraehe," he snarled as he whipped his head over to glare at her and surged back to his feet to resume his fight.

Kraehe didn't even give him a chance to strike. She summoned a conspiracy of her raven minions and sent them flying straight towards the young knight. Fakir managed to keep his fear in check this time, but was caught off guard by the sudden attack. He could only raise his arms to cover his face as the bird-like monsters swarmed him. He grunted in pain as their blade-like feathers sliced into the skin of his arms, and slowly sunk to the ground as he tried to protect his vital areas as best as he could. He knew how much damage these creatures could inflict on a human body. The dark-haired teen was hunched over as much as possible, but still the ravens tore into him. He could feel wounds being torn open all across his back, and both arms burned with pain from the lacerations covering them. A low moan escaped him as his head started to spin. The wounds may all have been shallow so far, but the pain was sufficient to send his already taxed body over the edge. The injuries combined with his exhaustion were just too much for him to handle. Fakir fell forward in a crumpled heap as the world started to fade. The last thing he heard was Princess Tutu crying out desperately, yet her words were lost to him. All he knew was one of his worst fears had come to pass…he had failed to protect Mytho.

 **A/N:** And I am stopping here. As you can tell, the ravens are not ordinary birds. In fact, my head canon is that they aren't true birds at all, but constructs of a sort. They are bird shaped creatures with feathers sharp enough to slice through skin with the ease of a keen blade, their talons are just as sharp, and their beaks can stab just as effectively as a finely sharpened stiletto dagger. Because they are not true birds, their blows also carry considerably more force than their diminutive size might suggest. I have never seen crows or ravens mob a new-born lamb, but I do know they have little trouble killing one (you learn such interesting things from books). Now imagine the amount of damage a similarly sized mob can do with the enhancements I just listed. Now imagine a conspiracy as large as some of the flocks of European starlings that fly over Rome. Now imagine them attacking humans. Pretty grim picture, isn't it? This is the scourge that afflicted Mytho's kingdom in the story, and Goldkrone when Fakir was a child. For the record, the correct plural to use for a large number of ravens is, in fact, a conspiracy. I know all sorts of random bits of useless trivia, so I often look for excuses to use them in my writing. It makes them slightly less useless. Next chapter is the start of the season 1 climax and is one of my FAVORITE EPISODES! Mostly because of all the Fakir/Ahiru interaction…and the whole reveal scene. I laugh every time I watch that bit. Well, I'll see you all next chapter… EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! **Present day edit: Back to being mostly paragraph length issues and word replacement. Those don't bother me as much…but I'd still rather fix them then leave things as they are…**


	12. Alliance

**A/N:** FINALLY! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES! Oh, I have been looking forward to this part for this entire fic! There are other parts I am looking forward to after this, but _this!_ This chapter and the one following are covering where my favorite pairing ever actually starts to take shape. Yes, the Fakir/Ahiru pairing is now my favorite pairing ever. I am that hooked. Can you really blame me though? They are just such a perfect match! And they are so adorable together! And it's sort of canon…at least on Fakir's side. I'm not going to ramble on any more, though. I want to start writing this chapter already! I'm going in! WHEE!

 **Disclaimer:** So I may have made a deal with Kuja to keep Fakir under a sleep spell when I write so he isn't trying to murder me. Not going into the details, but…it involves the complete works of William Shakespeare, a comfy chair, a burning effigy of Garland, and his own Latin choir. Don't ask. I don't own Princess Tutu, and I definitely don't own Kuja. He just likes to hang around my headspace. If he belongs to anyone it is SquareENIX…though he would argue that he belongs to himself.

Chapter 12: Alliance

Fakir didn't know how long he'd been out before his awareness returned. He was vaguely aware of someone's arm being wrapped around his waist and someone holding onto his right wrist as his feet dragged across the ground. A low moan slipped out of him as the pain in his injuries spiked, and his eyes slowly fluttered open. "Fakir! You're awake," a familiar voice exclaimed in relief, "Thank goodness!" "What," he murmured as he blinked a few times to clear his vision and turned his head slightly as Princess Tutu's face swam into focus. She was half-carrying, half-dragging him through the streets and his pride balked furiously at that. An annoyed scowl crossed his face as he struggled to stand as straight as he could and tried to pull his arm free, "Let go of me…" Hesitantly, the ballerina obeyed and stepped back as the dark-haired teen staggered over to a nearby wall. Fakir leaned heavily against it as he waited for his vision to stop blurring in and out of focus before asking quietly, "Where's Mytho?"

Ahiru's alter-ego bit her lip and shook her head slowly, "I don't know… Kraehe, she… She…" "She took him, didn't she," the young knight sighed resignedly as he looked over at the distraught girl. "Yes," Tutu nodded before she continued desperately, "But only after she ripped the heart-shard I had found out of his chest!" "She…what…," he stared in disbelief, "How?!" "Those vines," the ballerina princess explained quickly, "They came out of the necklace Mytho gave me when I was in the middle of returning it to him and wrapped me up! Part of the shard was still sticking out of his chest! She just grabbed it and pulled it out! Then they both vanished in this swirl of black wind and feathers! I hope he's okay…" That, at least, was a sentiment he could agree with. "So Mytho's present was a trap all along," Fakir murmured before he pushed himself back upright, "I underestimated Kraehe's resourcefulness… I wonder how she got it into his possession?"

"Eh," Tutu exclaimed in shock, "You knew he wanted to give me something? Why didn't you just tell me after class!?" "Not important," Fakir snapped before he started walking unsteadily down the street towards the dorms. "Where are you going," the ballerina asked as she rushed to catch up with him. "I have to find Mytho," the young knight hissed coldly. "But you're hurt," she protested. "Doesn't matter," the injured teen replied shortly, "I _won't_ fail him a second time!" Princess Tutu gave him a worried look, but didn't speak again. However, she also didn't leave his side as he continued his stumbling, staggering progress down the streets. The gates of the dorms were just in sight before his knees buckled in exhaustion. He started to fall forward and would have hit the ground, but the ballerina princess grabbed him and slung his right arm back across her shoulders.

The injured young man managed to find his footing again, but found he couldn't fully support his weight without leaning heavily on Tutu. She started walking forward slowly and wrapped her arm around his waist to guide him along with her. Fakir knew he needed the help, but his pride was not willing to accept it without at least a token protest. "Let go," he ground out weakly, "I can walk by myself!" "You can't," the red-haired ballerina replied firmly. He would have argued back were it not for the fact that his vision was starting to black out at the edges. He was starting to pass out again. Another low moan escaped him and he leaned even more heavily on the shorter girl. "Fakir," she cried worriedly, "Hang on!" He didn't have the energy to remind her that he wasn't dying or anything; he was just extremely tired. However, his consciousness was fading fast and, by the time Tutu got him to the dorms, he was barely aware. He didn't remember her practically carrying him up the stairs and to his room. He didn't remember her laying him on Mytho's bed before hunting for a first aid kit. And he definitely didn't remember her starting to treat his wounds before he passed out once more.

It was shortly after midnight when the young knight regained consciousness a second time. He winced in pain as he awakened and slowly opened his eyes. Fakir was confused about how he had ended up in bed and whispered, "I…" 'How did I get back here,' he thought hazily, 'Why can't I remember what happened?' He was still a bit dazed, but his memories soon returned as his mind started to clear. "That's right,' he murmured softly, "Princess Tutu helped me…" Abruptly, he noticed that his wounds didn't hurt as much and slid his left arm out from under the covers to see why. The young man was surprised to find that roughly half of his forearm had been wrapped in clean white bandages. 'Did Tutu do this,' he wondered as he realized his other arm had received the same treatment. They had both suffered the deepest injuries and had been bleeding the most as he recalled.

Nobody had tried to take care of him when he'd been injured since he started attending the Academy. Fakir had taken care of his own wounds for the past three years. He wasn't used to having to accept another's aid anymore, and the fact that Princess Tutu, of all people, had been the first one to try bothered him. Not that he wasn't grateful for the assistance – since he _had_ needed it – but it still made him uncomfortable; he decided to do his best to brush it off. "Hmph," he scoffed quietly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, "Treating my wounds? What an unnecessary…" The young knight would have continued had he not noticed the ballerina _still in the room_ slumped over asleep with her head resting on the mattress of _his_ bed. Fakir closed his eyes in exasperation as he addressed the girl, "Hey." Tutu stirred and made a soft sleepy noise as she raised her head. She turned to look at him and he could see her visibly relax when she saw he was awake. "Ah, Fakir," he could _hear_ the relief in her voice, "How are your injuries?"

While part of him was somewhat touched by the fact that she had genuinely been concerned for him, the young knight was annoyed by her response. "Don't just ask how my injuries are," he grumbled as he looked away before demanding, "Why are you still Tutu?" It wasn't as though he didn't already know who she was. There was no reason he could see for her to remain in the form of the magical ballerina, and that irritated him. "What? Ah…," Princess Tutu looked down at her costume as though she had just remembered it was still there before she explained sheepishly, "Since I was coming into the boys' dorm I thought it might be bad if I looked like my usual self." The dark-haired young man turned to look back at her as he considered that she made a good point. Female students were not allowed in the boys' dorm just as male students weren't allowed in the girls' dorm. If someone had seen Ahiru wandering around the building she could have gotten into serious trouble, so her remaining in Tutu's form made a certain amount of sense. Considering _he_ hadn't made the connection between the two until he'd recognized that blasted pendant there was no way anyone else would work it out. He was surprised at how well she'd thought the matter out, though, and it must have shown on his face because the red-head started to look uncertain. "I-Is that strange," she asked him uneasily.

He hadn't meant to make her feel as though she'd done something wrong. If anything her decision had been the right one to make. Somewhat embarrassed over the entire situation he looked away again and closed his eyes as he replied, "No. I'm sorry to have troubled you." "Don't worry about that," Tutu replied, correctly deducing that he had been referring to her treating his injuries. Fakir started to move towards the opposite side of the mattress and swung his legs over the side intending to stand when the ballerina suddenly stood up. "Ah," she exclaimed in concern, "Are you okay? Can you move?" He figured the answers to both questions were obvious and didn't bother responding. "However," the young knight cut her off as he glanced back, "That doesn't mean I will cooperate with you." He may owe the girl a debt of gratitude, but that didn't mean he was any more willing to work with her now than he had been earlier.

Princess Tutu looked back at him hopefully as she asked, "But you're going to look for Mytho, right?" The young man started slightly at how fast she had picked up on his intentions before she continued, "Couldn't we just cooperate for that? Let's look for Mytho together." Fakir considered her offer. He wasn't all that fond of the idea, but he had to admit the search might go faster with the two of them working together. It was for Mytho's sake, after all. He was well used to doing things he didn't like for the prince's sake by this point. "Very well," the dark-haired knight sighed heavily as he stood before turning to face the ballerina fully, "But only until we find him. I'm not promising anything after that." "That's fine," the red-head smiled back happily. Again, he was taken aback by how friendly the girl was considering their history. He'd been so cruel towards her… How could she possibly smile at him so genuinely? It made no sense. It was something he'd have to work out later, though. Finding Mytho was more important. "Let's go," he stated firmly. "Right," Tutu nodded back with a resolved look.

The two quietly snuck out of the boys' dorm and, to Fakir's relief, the girl immediately dropped her transformation the second they reached the gates. It was the first time he'd really had the chance to see Tutu turn back and was stunned to realize that the magical ballerina was a full head taller than her real self. Ahiru was _really_ short. Considering what he recalled of her build the one time they danced together, she had a delicate frame as well and was extremely light. It didn't feel entirely wrong to compare her to the bird that was her namesake. For one so small and frail to take up the task of protecting the prince and hold to it so firmly… 'I may have underestimated her courage,' he realized with a hint of admiration, 'Maybe this little alliance of ours will work out after all.' "Where should we start looking," the girl asked with an eager look. "Not sure," Fakir admitted reluctantly, "I have no idea what sort of hiding place Kraehe would consider appropriate." "Maybe he got away," Ahiru suggested hopefully, "And is waiting for us somewhere!" "I suppose that's possible," the young knight acknowledged, though in all honesty he doubted it. Kraehe wasn't likely to release the prince if she could avoid it and his friend might not be in any condition to escape on his own. Still, the younger ballerina's hope was infectious, and he was willing to entertain the possibility for a while at least. "Do you have any ideas of where he might be," he asked her. "How about the church," the clumsy ballerina suggested. The young man shrugged and nodded, "All right. It's as good a starting place as any. Let's go."

Fakir wasn't surprised to find Mytho was _not_ at the church, but Ahiru seemed to be disappointed by the discovery. "He's not here," she moaned dejectedly. It made the dark-haired teen uneasy to see the normally upbeat girl so dejected and he immediately tried to come up with an alternative location to search. "I suppose he could be at the mill," he offered. "Eh? Mill," the red-head looked confused, "What mill?" The young knight sighed, "Just follow me." The tall young man lead his temporary ally through the darkened, mist shrouded streets to where he and his friend had hidden during the week prior until Kraehe had shown up. When they arrived at the mill, Ahiru immediately rushed into the building and called out for his friend, "Mytho!" He followed her in to find her scanning the room and allowed his gaze to sweep the area. Everything was as he had left it four days ago. "He's not here either," the red-head sighed.

"We should keep looking," the young man suggested, "Do you have any other ideas?" "Not really," she admitted. Fakir frowned before he shook his head with a soft sigh and gestured for the door, "Then we may as well just check places at random. Come on." They spent the rest of the night searching with no sign of the missing teen. Occasionally, Ahiru would try to start a casual conversation just to pass the time, but he mostly ignored her efforts. To his annoyance, this didn't stop her from talking and she would ramble awkwardly for several minutes before trailing off into incoherent mumbles and finally shutting up. Their wanderings eventually took them back to the ruined house where Mytho had been abducted from shortly after sunrise. However, the prince wasn't there either. "Maybe he's in one of the watchtowers looking for us," the red head suggested hopefully. Fakir doubted it, but there was no harm in looking. "May as well check, I suppose," he shrugged before walking off. However, this location was also lacking in any sign of the missing prince. "He just isn't anywhere," she admitted dejectedly as she turned to look back at him.

"He's out there," Fakir assured her firmly as he moved closer, "It's just that we haven't been able to find him." Much as he'd feared, the prince was most likely still in Kraehe's clutches. "Right," Ahiru agreed as she turned to look back out the window. Suddenly, she seemed to get an idea as she turned to face him again, "Ah! How about the lesson room?" "Huh," he wondered as he turned his head slightly. "He might be dancing in the lesson room right now," the girl suggested with a smile. The young knight had no idea how she had come to such a conclusion. "Why would he be there," he asked skeptically. "What? Well, because Mytho loves to dance, so…" the red-head started to explain herself before she trailed off uncertainly. The dark-haired teen closed his eyes in exasperation as he told her, "That makes no sense!"

The diminutive ballerina started to explain awkwardly, "But, but… The last time he got taken away, he was back before we knew it, right? So I was thinking that maybe that could have happened again and I couldn't think of anywhere else…" Fakir stared at her in amazement as she spoke. This girl just kept surprising him with her persistent optimism. She never gave up hope in spite of how many times she was met with discouragement. She might falter occasionally, but she always bounced back. It should have been annoying, but instead he found himself thinking it was kind of cute. He couldn't help the short, soft laugh that slipped out of him as she trailed off. "I guess we can go check it out," he smiled lightly as he turned to head back down the tower, "Since we have nothing to lose." His smile widened a bit as he heard her cry after him, "Ah, wait for me!" Yeah, that innocence of hers was _definitely_ cute. Not that he had any intentions of letting her know the thought had crossed his mind. He still didn't trust her enough for that.

The pair headed back across town to the campus and slipped through the secondary access door in the gates. The main gates were always locked on Sundays, but the secondary door in the gate tower was left unlocked for those students who wished to make use of the facilities. The mist from the night had yet to fully burn off under the morning sun and swirled around them as they walked across the bridge. Soon enough they reached the main lawn and looked around. Everything was still and silent. "The school sure is quiet on Sundays, isn't it," Ahiru observed. "I guess so," Fakir replied indifferently. Personally, he felt she was stating the obvious. It wasn't as though there were any classes and the number of people who _did_ show up for their personal practice sessions didn't all arrive at once. He was debating pointing that out to her when the faint melody of the 'Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy' caught his ear and his eyes widened in surprise. 'Could Ahiru actually be right,' he wondered. "That might be Mytho," the girl exclaimed eagerly before she suddenly ran forward, and the young knight followed close behind.

The music was coming from the main ballet building, and the two ran around the side of the building before climbing the stairs to the patio garden outside the primary lesson room. The dark-haired young man stopped just beside the first window, but for some reason his red-haired companion dove forward and landed under the second window. "What are you thinking," he hissed in confusion. "I want to see in," she whispered back, "And I don't want to crowd you." He blinked in surprise at her reasoning before brushing it off. He appreciated her concern for his personal space, but diving forward like that? That was just strange. Still, they were both in position now and each moved to peer through their respective windows. However, it wasn't Mytho who was dancing to the music, but Mr. Katze and both teens felt a surge of embarrassment for spying on their teacher. "Oh," he yelped quietly and jolted slightly in surprise as he heard Ahiru echo him.

The anthropomorphic feline suddenly snapped his head around to look in their direction and both teens pulled back to hide. However, Fakir noticed that Ahiru's cowlick was still sticking up. "Hey," he hissed quietly from where he hid. "Eh," the girl whispered back as she turned to look at him. "He can see you," he replied softly. To his amusement and irritation the red-head started to rapidly turn her head back and forth as she panicked, "What?! Where? What? What?!" The cowlick that remained in Mr. Katze's field of vision followed that movement and danced in what the young knight knew would register as an enticing manner to the cat-man. A loud bang came from the window indicating that the feline instructor had reacted to the dancing tuft of hair much like a normal cat would to a string being dangled in front of it…and had slammed his head into the wall in his attempt to catch it.

Fakir brought his hand up to cover his face and sighed quietly, but the ridiculous situation he was witnessing had yet to conclude. Ahiru, for some reason, had curiously popped her head up the second the anthropomorphic feline had hit the window. Mr. Katze had not been knocked out by the impact, however, and stood back up before the girl could duck back out of sight. She'd been caught. The cat-man's words were muffled, but still clear enough for the exasperated teen to make out. "Who dares to disturb my Sunday practice," he demanded. "Ah," the red-head gasped. "Miss Ahiru," the feline hissed before proclaiming, "As punishment for interrupting my hard-work, you will marry me immediately!" "I'm so sorry," Ahiru cried as she fled as fast as she could. With a resigned sigh, Fakir followed after her and soon caught up.

"What are you doing," the young knight questioned the girl condescendingly as they walked away from the building. "But…," Ahiru started to protest before he stopped and turned to look down at her. "You have no idea how to hide yourself," Fakir stated evenly, "That much is clear." "Eh," the girl blinked up at him in confusion. The young man sighed in irritation, "I'm _trying_ to give you advice, idiot." The red-head glowered at him before she protested, "I'm not an idiot!" "Could have fooled me," he replied scathingly, "Now pay attention!" The blue-eyed girl huffed indignantly, but didn't protest further as the dark-clad knight continued, "You have that cowlick sticking up. If you want to escape notice then you should either smooth it down as much as possible, or duck down further so it's out of sight. If you can't manage either than tie a scarf or something around your head to hold it flat. And, for the love of all that is holy, don't look until you are certain the coast is clear!" "Why are you even telling me this," the diminutive ballerina grumbled. "Because sometimes keeping yourself hidden can mean the difference between life and death," the dark-haired teen shot back coldly. That stopped his temporary ally cold and she gaped at him in shock, "EH?!" Fakir sighed sharply before looking off to the side, "Believe it or not, I don't want you to get hurt. The more people who make it to the end of the story alive and intact the happier I'll be." "It's that dangerous," Ahiru inquired uneasily. "Yes," the young knight replied bluntly before he turned and walked away, "Come on. We'll check the gardens next."

As they approached the gazebo deep within the arranged woodland on campus the pair scanned their surroundings for any sign of the missing prince. However, as they drew near to the structure, a soft sound caused them to stop short. Fakir's eyes widened slightly as a familiar flash of white peaked around the side of one of the pillars and an equally familiar soft voice greeted, "Hey, there." "Mytho," Ahiru exclaimed before a happy sigh escaped her. It certainly _looked_ like the missing teen, but the young knight's instincts were screaming at him that something was terribly wrong. Either Kraehe had done something to him, or that wasn't his friend at all. Regardless, the dark-haired knight remained wary; however, his companion was far more willing to take things at face value. "He's okay," the diminutive ballerina cried in relief as she started to move forward again, "Thank goodness!"

The green-eyed young man reacted quickly and thrust his arm out in front of her to impede her progress. "Wait," he exclaimed sharply. 'There's something wrong here,' he frowned as he watched Mytho turn to face them with a mocking smile on his face, 'Mytho's never looked so menacing before… Is that really him?' "Do you know the story of the Prince and the Raven," the white-haired teen asked condescendingly as he started to dance, "It's a story where a brave prince fights a monster raven…" Ahiru stepped back warily as she, too, noticed something off about the prince's behavior. "There was a knight whom the prince trusted," he continued in the same mocking tone, "But that knight couldn't even land a single blow before he was torn in two by the raven's claws." Fakir flinched slightly at that reminder, but successfully fought his fear down. It seemed the more he was exposed to it the easier it was to fight off. However, the prince's next words made him grit his teeth in agitation as an irritated grunt slipped out.

"A useless good-for-nothing who could only _talk_ about protecting the prince," Mytho mocked. That was a deliberate verbal attack on the dark-haired young man's past actions, and it hit home with grim accuracy. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ahiru turn to look at him with a look of mixed concern and dawning horror. She had been just as ignorant of the fate that he faced as everything else in the story, so he wasn't really surprised. However, the white-haired young man was not finished, "That's why the prince suffered such great hardships! The monster raven flew out of the story and he had no choice but to pursue and seal it away all on his own! Using a forbidden power of his own will… That's right. The prince grasped his own heart and tore it out!" A horrified gasp tore itself free from the diminutive ballerina as Fakir looked away in dismay, "What?!" This was not the way he would have chosen for her to learn the truth about how the prince had lost his heart. The way Mytho had presented the events…was far too harsh. "No way," Ahiru continued in horrified disbelief, "He tore out his heart himself…"

The young knight tensed as a familiar feeling of unease settled on him and he looked back to see an equally familiar mane of raven hair peeking out from behind yet another pillar. 'Rue,' Fakir snarled internally. "It's true," Rue stated in an amused tone as she stepped out fully. "Rue-chan," Ahiru gasped in surprise. The raven-haired ballerina laughed, "Ahiru, you really don't know anything, do you?" Mytho reached out to take the young woman's hand and they started to dance as she continued to talk, "Do you know of Princess Tutu?" Predictably, the red-head gasped before shrilly – and in the dark-haired young man's opinion unconvincingly – denying, "Princess Tutu… I don't really…know anything…" The burgundy-eyed girl had a mocking smile on her face as she explained, "You see, in The Prince and The Raven, Princess Tutu is only presented in a few sentences. Even as one of the characters in the story she was a pitiful being that no one envied. An insignificant existence that was forsaken even by the story somewhere along the way." Fakir's eyes narrowed as a sudden suspicion occurred to him as she spoke, 'She couldn't be… Yet it makes sense! Is she…Kraehe?!' It would explain _why_ his instincts kept insisting she was a threat. Why she sounded so similar to the Raven Princess…particularly right then. And most of all, it explained why she was being so cruel to Ahiru all of a sudden. "She couldn't expect the prince to notice her," Rue finished cruelly, "She was merely there to liven up the story. Poor thing." The red-head still didn't understand and looked both saddened and confused as she questioned the other girl, "Rue-chan… Why are you telling me this story?"

Rue laughed again as she brought her dance with her white-haired partner to a close, "So, you still haven't figured it out. Rue doesn't even really exist." Fakir's suspicions had been right! She _was_ Princess Kraehe! The young knight watched grimly as the young man standing behind the raven-haired ballerina slowly shifted into a raven perched on her extended hand. "What," Ahiru gasped in shock at the sudden change. Then the raven suddenly vanished in a burst of purple sparks as she clenched her fist. "What," the red-head exclaimed in shock. "Now, have you finally figured it out," the burgundy-eyed girl asked mockingly, "Princess Tutu?" "Princess…Kraehe," the sheer horrified disbelief in the diminutive ballerina's voice as she haltingly replied made the young man grit his teeth in fury directed solely at Rue…no, Kraehe, "That can't be! Because you're my friend! We talked together and danced together and…" He couldn't stand to hear the sheer pain in her voice anymore and reached out to place his hand on her shoulder. "Stop," he commanded softly. She shouldn't let an enemy see just how badly she was hurting! They would only use such feelings against you later on. "That's true," the raven-haired ballerina admitted with a cold smile, "But this is the end of all that nonsense." The familiar black wind that heralded Kraehe's comings and goings sprang up around the antagonistic ballerina. "Rue-chan," Ahiru called desperately. Fakir couldn't understand why she seemed so insistent on treating the girl as though she were still her friend. Kraehe had been extremely clear that she did not see the red-head that way.

"I just came to get something that the prince forgot," the burgundy-eyed girl stated coldly, "So I'll take my leave now." Fakir narrowed his eyes as he murmured, "Something he forgot?" Kraehe had her arms crossed in front of her with her palms turned upwards as she smiled coldly, "It's not something for a mere failure of a knight to have." As she spoke the raven-haired ballerina suddenly changed into the Raven Princess before their eyes. Seconds after she finished speaking, a lesser raven appeared carrying the Prince's Sword in its talons before vanishing with the sword. "The prince's sword," the young knight exclaimed as his eyes widened in disbelief, "When did she…" 'When did she get her hands on it,' he wondered uneasily, 'How?! I hid it away!' "Rue-chan," Ahiru screamed desperately as Kraehe vanished in a whirlwind of black feathers; trying once more to reach her friend…but to no avail. " _Hurry and come rescue the prince_ ," Princess Kraehe's voice echoed. Seconds later she disappeared entirely and the black wind immediately died away, yet her mocking laugh continued to echo before it, too, faded away. 'This is a trap,' Fakir concluded, 'There is no way this is not a trap…but we _have_ to save Mytho. Damn it! We have no choice!' However, before he could talk to his red-haired ally the familiar sound of street organ music reached his ears. 'Edel,' he realized as he turned to look towards the sound. To his surprise, Ahiru echoed his realization before taking off, "Edel-san!" 'She knows that strange woman as well,' the young knight mused as he followed after her, 'I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Not with those hints that woman kept dropping.'

The two allies soon reached the campus lawn where they found the mysterious Edel standing in the middle of the main walk facing the main ballet studio. "Edel-san," Ahiru called as they ran up before slowing to a walk then a stop behind her. "Water is drawn to fire, fire to darkness," the strange woman stated cryptically as she turned to face the pair, "And darkness to silence." 'And we're back to being cryptic again,' Fakir grumbled internally. "Now let us go," the green-haired woman stated as she started to walk away. "What," he breathed quietly. "To where," the red-head asked curiously. "The place you must go," the pale woman replied. 'That tells us nothing,' the young knight snarled in his head. However, when the diminutive ballerina moved to follow the mysterious street organist, the dark-haired young man was close behind her. As they walked he asked Ahiru casually, "So this woman's been spouting cryptic nonsense at you too, huh? She's been bothering me for close to a month now. How long has it been for you?" "Eh," the blue-eyed girl yelped, "You know Edel-san, too?!" "I did just say that," he pointed out dryly before reminding her, "You never answered my question." "Huh?! Oh…," the girl flushed awkwardly, "Um…maybe a little over a month. I'm not so good with days…" Somehow, this did not surprise him. Yet it definitely confirmed that Edel knew exactly who Tutu was when she started pushing him to join up with the ballerina. Oddly enough, that didn't bother him as much as he was expecting. 'Maybe I'm starting to accept her a bit,' he acknowledged as he glanced at the red-head walking nearby.

They followed Edel through the streets until finally they arrived outside an old building near the large church in the middle of town. The same church the Prince's Sword had been hidden under. The same church Kraehe had attempted to wed Mytho in. Fakir frowned as he made the connection, 'This is definitely a trap.' The strange woman led them around the side of the building to a small alcove. The green-eyed teen's attention focused on a small door near the back of the alcove and walked over to it. The young man reached out to grasp the heavy padlock holding it shut and murmured, "It's locked…" Why would the green-haired woman lead them to a locked door they had no way of opening? He turned to look back at Ahiru, who had come up behind him, and was about to ask her if she knew what Edel was up to. Then he noticed the pale woman was holding an emerald up before the bas-relief of a jester carved into the side of the wall over an inscription. As he watched, she placed the jewel in a socket he hadn't noticed in the carven jester's chest. Malachite green eyes widened as a passage to the tunnels that snaked under the town opened moments later.

"You can get to where the prince and Kraehe are from here," Edel informed them. "An entrance in a place like this," Fakir mused in surprise as he followed Ahiru over to stand near the newly opened passageway. He hadn't known about this one. "Go on," the strange woman directed them. "Thank you, Miss Edel," the red-head beamed up at the green-haired woman, "For always being so kind to me." The pale woman dismissed her thanks in an oddly emotionless tone, "This is not kindness." "Huh," the girl tilted her head in confusion. "A puppet follows orders," the woman continued. "Puppet," the diminutive ballerina asked, as she was still clearly confused. "Yes, I am a puppet," the now revealed puppet woman admitted evenly before turning to look down at the blue-eyed girl standing next to her, "I have neither a heart nor feelings." As depressing as this revelation was, it actually explained a lot to the young knight. 'So the reason her skin was so cold and felt like polished wood is because she is _made_ of wood,' he realized, 'That must also be how she disappeared so fast. Only…puppets have puppet- _masters_. Who has been controlling Edel all this time?' Fakir was worried by this and listened intently to the rest of the conversation. "But," Ahiru protested, "Edel-san…you're always teaching me so many things, and you've been so nice. So…I think of you as…" "It was because that was the role given to me," Edel replied placidly, "My orders end here. Now, please go on." She turned to gesture for the open passageway on that final sentence. "Whose orders are they," the dark-haired teen demanded. The green-haired puppet only laughed softly in response as she continued to hold her position.

"Edel-san," the red-head gazed up at her friend, for Fakir now realized that is how the girl saw the puppet, sadly. "Now, please go on," the pale puppet repeated. Yet both the puppet and the young man were caught off guard when the diminutive ballerina suddenly hugged the wooden woman tightly. "Ahiru," Edel asked with a hint of confusion coloring her voice. "Edel-san," Ahiru said quietly before looking up into the puppet's face and smiling kindly, "Thank you! We'll be going now." Somehow, in spite of her not having emotions of her own, the puppet woman's expression softened, "Ahiru…" She reached out and caressed the red-head's face softly. The confused girl looked up at the green-haired puppet with a soft sound of puzzlement escaping her. "You're very warm," the pale puppet mused quietly, "And so soft." The blue-eyed ballerina's expression saddened slightly as she looked up at the puppet woman and murmured, "Edel-san…" Edel gazed down at the human girl for a few moments longer before turning to face the passageway once more, "Now, hurry!" The young knight didn't hesitate any longer for he heard the urgency in the puppet's voice. He walked passed Ahiru and knelt before the passage as he stated, "All right, let's go!" "Okay," the diminutive ballerina nodded as she turned to follow him. The dark-haired teen went first before turning to help his companion through the low opening. The pair then pressed on into the darkness beyond.

Fakir took the lead as they made their way through the tunnels beyond the opening. He was marginally more familiar with the layout than Ahiru was, though this particular section was not one he knew. Surprisingly, there was a faint illumination radiating from the stones that allowed them to see where they were going. "Just enough light so that you can see the darkness," the young knight murmured as the thought occurred to him. "Did you say something," the red-head asked curiously. "Nothing," he lied. It wasn't as though he'd said anything important, after all. The faint light confined itself to a particular series of passages, so that was most likely the way they had to go. It was convenient, but it only served to confirm the young man's suspicions that they were heading into a trap. 'Still doesn't change the fact that we have no choice but to continue,' he admitted to himself. As they continued their trek, he glanced back occasionally to ensure that his companion was still following. The last thing he wanted was for her to wander off and get herself lost.

The path led them to a wide ledge that dropped off sharply into a deep channel on the left. So deep that you couldn't even see the bottom from the ledge running alongside it. The dark-haired teen's keen hearing picked up the faint sound of dripping water from below. 'An aqueduct of some kind,' he considered as he continued to lead the way, 'I know that when it rains the water often ends up flowing through parts of these tunnels. Could this be one of those channels?' Fakir turned his head to check on Ahiru again and nearly panicked as he realized what she was doing. She was walking _way_ too close to the edge! Worse, she was leaning over to look down into the darkness below and not paying the slightest attention to the path in front of her! He immediately stopped, reached out, and snagged the end of her braid to pull her back before she fell. "Ow! Ow! Ow," she yelped as he yanked on the makeshift tether. "Moron," he reprimanded sharply, "Walk more towards the middle! You're careless enough as it is!" The young man then released his hold on her braid before continuing onwards.

What followed was a series of incidents he could hardly believe were real. Ahiru somehow managed to run into every wall, trip over every hole, nearly fall off of every drop between a higher and lower level of the ledge, and generally prove his point about calling her careless. 'I knew she was clumsy,' Fakir admitted with a faint eye-twitch when she fell-on her face after one of the drops, 'But this is ridiculous.' After she smacked face first into the wall over a low part of the passage he started to wonder how she could be so graceful as Tutu, but so utterly inept when she was her normal self. "You really are Princess Tutu, aren't you," he asked uncertainly after she scrambled through the low section. She awkwardly got to her feet with a dazed look on her face, most likely from all the collisions, before she responded, "Well, yeah. What about it?"

It occurred to the young man that this probably hadn't been an appropriate question to ask, and he tried to correct it a bit, "No, it's just Princess Tutu is more…sort of…you know…" He trailed off as he realized there was no way he could finish that sentence without either insulting Ahiru or complimenting Tutu. Neither of which he really wanted to do. Yes, he could admit that the more time he spent in the red-head's company the more he acknowledged that, personality wise, there was really no difference between her or her alter-ego. They were basically the same person. However, complementing the magical ballerina…that was just not happening. He still resented that side of her identity a bit too much for that. "Huh," the dazed girl wondered. "No, never mind," Fakir deflected. It was best that this topic be dropped entirely before he embarrassed himself. The blue-eyed ballerina soon snapped out of her daze and looked at him curiously. "Are you feeling okay, Fakir," she asked, "Your face looks a bit red." "You're seeing things," he lied as he realized he'd been blushing from the sheer awkwardness his question had brought about. Ahiru blinked before shrugging her shoulders, "Okay then. How much further do you think we have to go?" "No idea," the young knight admitted as he turned to look down the tunnel behind him.

The two continued onwards through the tunnels and soon passed out of the worked section into a segment that was more like a natural cavern. There was less of a chance of Ahiru falling off a ledge to her death or giving herself a concussion here, so Fakir relaxed slightly. Not long after they entered the cavernous tunnel, though, the red-head spoke up, "Hey, Fakir!" "What is it," he replied without looking back. "Never mind, it's nothing," the girl demurred. "What? If you're not going to say anything then don't open your mouth in the first place," he retorted coldly. "Oh…um, it's nothing like that, but," the diminutive ballerina protested before she continued hesitantly, "I don't think you're no good as a knight or anything, you know." The dark-haired teen blinked in surprise at that, but didn't show any other reaction indicating just how much her random statement had caught him off guard. As usual, he masked his confusion with annoyance. "What's your point," Fakir grumbled. "I guess I don't really have a point," Ahiru admitted before she continued, "I didn't think you were very nice when I first met you, but now I get the feeling I understand you a little bit." He wasn't sure how, exactly, she had come to that conclusion, but he was starting to get a bit uncomfortable with her persistent friendliness. "I'll say this right now," he stated coldly, "I don't have any intention of helping you out. I will save Mytho on my own. That's all." "Yeah," she replied despondently, "I know that." The guilt returned with a vengeance as her tone registered and he looked off to the side in irritation. He just couldn't win when it came to dealing with this girl!

Soon enough they passed out of the natural section and into a section that was a mix of carved out tunnels and masonry. The transition was marked by another drop from a higher to a lower section, and Fakir groaned internally as he realized Ahiru would probably hurt herself if he didn't assist her. In spite of his earlier words, he would rather she _not_ give herself a concussion. 'Guess I'm helping her after all,' he sighed to himself. However, he was jolted out of his thoughts as the object of them spoke up once more just as he jumped down, "You know…" The young knight waited until he'd landed before he responded, "Hmm?" The red-head shook her head, "No, it's nothing." She _really_ needed to stop starting conversations then cutting them off like that. It was starting to tick him off. "What's your problem," he snapped harshly, "Don't just stop in the middle once you start talking to me!" The blue-eyed ballerina leaned back slightly in shock at his outburst before she looked down and started talking, "The truth is, I've never thought about what exactly it is that I like about Mytho or anything." That admission worried Fakir slightly, but he didn't let it show as he held out his hand to help her down. Ahiru gave the extended hand a surprised look before she took it and jumped down herself. She then continued once she landed, "When I first saw him, I just thought he was really handsome, but when I looked closer he had such sad eyes. And I thought that if I became Princess Tutu, I could do something for him. At first, that's all there really was to it…" The young knight would have never imagined that Tutu's motivations could have been so selfless. The fact that she didn't even entirely know _why_ she was attracted to his friend was still concerning, but he felt some of his lingering resentment melt away as he listened to her speak. "But, now I…," she started to continue before Fakir suddenly tensed and looked up. He heard wings!

A small conspiracy of Kraehe's minions were diving down on them from above, and Fakir didn't hesitate to react. He immediately pushed Ahiru clear before he drew his sword with an irritated curse, "Damn!" Seconds later the ravens were on him and he did his best to fend them off. "Fakir," he heard his companion cry out in concern, but he didn't look away from the foes threatening him. "Run," he ordered sharply as he sliced through one raven that got too close. It didn't take him too long to finish the group off, but no sooner had he cut the last of them down than did a frightened scream from the blue-eyed ballerina send a chill down his spine. He spun around to see _another_ mob surrounding the diminutive girl and driving her slowly towards the edge of a large pit where the floor had crumbled away. He saw her place one foot on the rim and start to tip backwards.

Yet again, he didn't hesitate before reacting to the peril she was in. "You idiot," he yelled as he ran towards her as fast as he could. He ended up going over the edge himself due to his speed yet he still managed to catch Ahiru as he fell. They both cried out as they plummeted into the pit, but even then Fakir still did his best to keep his companion from harm. He held her tightly to his chest as he twisted himself to ensure that, when they landed, he would hit first and hopefully cushion her fall. They were fortunate, though, for the bottom of the pit was mostly covered by a pool of water, and the young knight's momentum carried them over a section deep enough to provide a fairly soft landing. Fakir immediately surfaced and dragged them both towards the dry patch of land on the near side of the pit. He then collapsed half out of the water and panted lightly as the adrenaline from the fall faded. His exhaustion started to rear its head again, but he did his best to push it away. He could rest _after_ Mytho was safe.

A soft groan escaped him as he released his hold on Ahiru; even though the water had cushioned his landing he was still sore from the impact. "I-I'm sorry," the red-head stammered, "Are you hurt?" "No, miraculously," the young knight replied as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He wasn't lying. He was sore, true, but he didn't actually have any injuries from the fall. It was an odd stroke of luck, but he wasn't complaining about it. He looked up and examined the pit they had fallen into. "What is this place," Fakir wondered as he stood up. Now that he had the chance to get a good look at it, it resembled an old cistern more than anything. It hinted at the role these tunnels may have played in the history of Goldkrone and, not for the first time, the young man wished he knew more about them. He looked around for a way out and found nothing. "I guess we have no choice but to climb up again," he admitted reluctantly. The problem was the walls didn't look very climbable. They were almost completely covered in moss. Then there was the issue of the overhang from the crumbled floor above them. It was not going to be easy to get out no matter how he looked at the problem. Still he had to try to get them both out of this predicament. Mytho was counting on them. Fakir walked over to the nearest section of wall and tried to get a grip, but the moss proved to be far too slippery. "It's covered with moss," he reported grimly, "It doesn't look like we can climb this. Damn it!" He started to move further along when Ahiru suddenly cried out, "Fakir!"

The young knight turned to see the girl standing up to her waist in the water on the opposite side of the cistern. "What is it," he inquired. This time the red-head didn't hesitate to tell him what was on her mind, "When I lost this pendant before, you held onto it for me, didn't you?" He supposed that was _one_ way of looking at that whole incident. "Huh," he wondered as he turned to face her fully, "What about it?" Ahiru waded through the water as she reached up to undo the clasp on her necklace while she continued, "Would you hold onto it for me again?" Fakir honestly had no idea what the ballerina was thinking as he asked her, "What is with you, all of a sudden?" The blue-eyed girl didn't answer as she finally succeeded in undoing the clasp and held the pendant out to him, "Here." The young man gave her a confused look, "Huh?" Still, he held out his hand and she promptly placed her necklace, stone first, in the center of his palm. The second her skin was out of contact with the stone, though, she immediately started to glow. The young knight's eyes widened in a combination of surprise and disbelief as the girl was completely consumed by the golden light before it faded into a few red sparkles. All that was left was her empty uniform falling to the ground.

A strangled gasp escaped him before he stammered uncertainly, "W-What's going on? Where did she…?" Suddenly, her uniform started to move before a familiar yellow head poked out with a cheerful, "Quack!" Fakir recoiled slightly in surprise, "A duck?!" The little yellow duck quacked again before shaking herself free of the loose clothing and headed right for the water. She swam out a little ways before diving beneath the surface as the completely flabbergasted young man looked on. The young knight's mind was working furiously as he tried to work out what had just happened. "She…," he murmured before he looked down at the pendant in his hand, "Wasn't this pendant for turning into Tutu?" Apparently, it was for far more than that. Ahiru was actually a duck. Suddenly, his memories of the little yellow duck he kept running into flashed across his mind and he stiffened. "She couldn't be…," he denied as his voice started to slide up an octave as everything started to fit together, "That duck?" The next memory to intrude was one that had been comforting at the time, but now had a far more discomfiting connotation. He remembered when that same duck found him crying after his fight with Charon. He remembered everything about that incident. All of this combined with the sudden revelation that Ahiru was _that same duck_ left the dark-haired teen in an emotional tail-spin.

He choked slightly as his entire face flushed bright red and he staggered back against the wall behind him before sliding down to the ground. Fakir brought his hand to the side of his head as he suddenly understood _why_ the red-head had felt it was worth stating that she didn't think he was worthless. Why she'd been so friendly with him in spite of everything he'd done. His eyes were wide in horror as he realized, "She saw me crying?!" Why didn't she _tell him_?! Was she _spying_ on him or something? What the hell?! The freaked-out – not to mention embarrassed – young knight raised his head to see if she had returned – he had every intention of chewing her out if she had – only to find he was still alone. His roiling emotions abruptly settled on pure concern as he climbed back to his feet. "She couldn't be drowning, could she," he wondered nervously before another thought occurred to him, "Can ducks drown?" It occurred to him that this _was_ Ahiru he was talking about and he concluded, "No, knowing her she might."

He waited a few moments longer, hoping that Ahiru would pop back up, but she didn't appear. Fakir couldn't take it any longer as he headed for the water's edge intending to dive in after her. "That moron," he snapped anxiously. However, before he reached the water a familiar yellow form popped back up to the surface and started quacking furiously at him. As relieved as he was that she _wasn't dead_ , his emotions were starting to destabilize again at the sight of her before being overwhelmed by a sudden surge of anger and embarrassment. The young man's fists clenched furiously as he demanded quietly, "Why?!" The little yellow duck swam closer as he launched into a short tirade, "Why didn't you say anything?! Don't keep quiet about things like that!" The little duck only tilted her head to the side in confusion, "Quack?" "It's dirty," he snapped as his embarrassment peaked.

That got a reaction out of the girl-turned-waterfowl as her expression turned annoyed and an irritated quack escaped her. Before the flustered young knight could react, Ahiru flew forward and thrust her head through the loop of the necklace still dangling from his right hand. Immediately, she started to turn back into a human. Fakir's quick mind – much to his dismay – reminded him that ducks were naturally naked and her uniform was still on the ground. That is why, while she was still in mid transformation, he dove for the pile of clothes and gathered them up. The light was already fading when he straightened up, thrust the hand holding her clothes out in front of him, and looked determinedly away from her nude body. Yet the knowledge that she _was_ standing _right in front of him_ and was also _completely naked_ was more than enough to send his face flaming even though he hadn't technically seen anything.

Ahiru immediately tore into him the second the transformation finished, "You say that, but it's not like I _wanted_ you to find out! But I'm smaller as a bird, so it was easier to investigate…" She trailed off as her situation started to dawn on her. Fakir could _hear_ the very instant she realized the same thing he had and a strangled noise escaped her before he heard a soft splash. He figured she had hid herself in the water as best as she could. "Did you see," she asked in an embarrassed tone. "I didn't look," he answered honestly before he turned to look at her and demanded, "Anyway, what'd you find out?! That's the first thing you should have said!" She shot him an annoyed look before she suddenly stood up and started to yell back, "But Fakir, you were…" "Don't stand," he yelled as he threw her clothes in her face and swiftly turned around so that he was facing the wall behind him. That time he hadn't managed to avoid catching a slight glimpse of _far_ more skin than he was comfortable with. For all that he was a teenaged male, Fakir did _not_ think it was okay to look at unclothed girls. Partly because of all the books on chivalry he'd read when he was trying to work out what it meant to be a knight when he was younger, and partly because he was naturally shy about such things. The thoroughly freaked-out young man just stared blankly at the wall as he tried to get both his heartrate and breathing back under control. 'The universe hates me,' he concluded near-hysterically, 'It just does!'

Eventually, Fakir managed to calm down and some of the tension bled out of his frame. At around the same time, Ahiru finished getting dressed and walked over to tap him on the shoulder, "Fakir, it's safe to look now." The young man tensed again the second she touched him and he muttered, "Don't…touch me. I'm still mad at you." "I told you…," she started to protest before he cut her off as he turned to face her sharply. "Not about you being a duck," he growled with a sharp glare, "You saw me crying. You were basically spying on me. That was low." "I didn't mean to," the girl protested furiously, "I just wanted my pendant back! I never expected to…see you like that…" She trailed off hesitantly as a sad look crossed her face. "What," he snapped coldly. "Before that night I never really understood just how much you cared for Mytho," she admitted, "I thought you were a bad guy, but…I was wrong. I was so very wrong. You're a kind person, Fakir! I just…never saw it. I'm sorry…" Fakir was taken aback by her apology and stared at her in shock for a few moments before his scowl returned, "You idiot… Don't apologize for that." "Eh," Ahiru gaped at him. The young knight sighed before he grudgingly admitted, "I push people away on purpose. I figured it was the most effective way to keep them from ending up trapped in the story. Not that it worked in _your_ case." "I was already involved," the red-head pointed out. "I am aware of that," the young man stated dryly, " _Now_." "

The young knight decided to let the matter go for now, and shot the girl an inquisitive look, "So what _did_ you find out?" Ahiru perked up and started to explain as she pointed to the hole in the far wall, "We can get to the other side through the water. I smelled a different kind of water, so there must be a lake up ahead." "You're sure about that," Fakir asked skeptically as he folded his arms across his chest. The red-head nodded firmly, "Positive." She then turned to walk back into the water a ways before she looked back at him, "Are you coming?" "Yeah," the young man replied quietly as he waded in after her. Soon they were both standing next to the hole in the wall and the dark-haired teen blinked in surprise as the diminutive girl stuck her hand out towards him. "What," he asked bemusedly. "I swam through most of the way already," she explained, "But it is still really dark down there and there are several side tunnels. You'll need to hold my hand so you don't get lost and drown." The green-eyed knight hesitated briefly before gently taking her hand without saying a word. Ahiru smiled back at him and they both slipped into the hole before diving underwater and swimming down. Fakir gazed speculatively at the girl swimming in front of him as they made their way through the tunnels. She just kept surprising him. First there was the whole her being Tutu thing, and now she turned out to really be a duck of all things! He still wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to all these sudden revelations, let alone how he should be treating her. His mind raced as they swam onwards. 'If Ahiru became Tutu in order to help Mytho,' he considered, 'That means she first saw him while she was still an ordinary duck. Yet even as a duck she still cared enough to risk everything just to make him smile again.'

He frowned uneasily as he realized just how badly he'd misjudged his companion this entire time. 'We've far more in common than I ever knew,' he admitted, 'We both are willing to risk everything to protect Mytho…" It also occurred to him that he really didn't have the right to be mad at her for accidentally spying on him. He'd really brought it on himself when he thought about it. 'Considering how she acted around me up till then,' he sighed internally, 'She must have genuinely believed I was a threat to Mytho's safety. How could I possibly hold anything she did with the intent to keep him safe against her? I'd be nothing more than a pathetic hypocrite if I did that… I…I owe her an apology…don't I?' The problem was he wasn't always very good at apologizing. 'Maybe I should try to make it up to her somehow… I suppose I could always share some of my thoughts on why Mytho is so set on getting his heart back,' he mused. Honestly, he couldn't deny that he was now just as keen on that prospect as they were. She'd changed him far more than he realized in an incredibly short span of time, yet he didn't resent her for it. 'Mytho's happiness is worth the risk,' he thought as a sad smile flickered across his face, 'I know that now. I've been letting my fear blind me for far too long… Forgive me, my friend. I was wrong to deny you your heart for so long… Forgive me…'

His thoughts drifted back to his companion as he idly started to wonder which side of the blue-eyed ballerina was the real her. As he reflected once more on all their encounters, he came to the conclusion that they were all real. There was no difference between Ahiru the duck, Ahiru the girl, and Princess Tutu. 'No matter what her shape,' he decided firmly, 'Who she is remains the same. Ahiru is Ahiru regardless. So that is who I'll treat her as. I'll keep her secret and only address her as Tutu when others are around, but…she will _always_ be Ahiru to me.' The last bit of resentment drained away with this decision. A soft smile crossed his face as he looked at her. She was truly incredible. He could admit that freely now, and he was more than willing to see her as a friend. Ahiru, without even realizing it, had earned his trust. He didn't think he'd have to worry about his fear anymore… For the first time, he wasn't in this alone…and it felt good to have someone he could rely on.

Soon enough the pair emerged in a small lake and swam up to the surface. Ahiru climbed out onto the shore before she turned to look back at her male companion, "See? It seems like we can still go farther in, doesn't it? That's probably where Mytho is." Fakir merely looked up at her stoically as he wondered if she knew just how remarkable she really was. She misjudged his expression entirely and asked him worriedly, "Are you okay, Fakir?" A soft laugh slipped out of him and he smiled at her which made her eyes widen in confusion, "W-What?" "Princess Tutu is a duck, huh," he teased her lightly. "Huh," she blinked in befuddlement. The young knight moved to pull himself out of the water and continued in a more serious, yet still light, tone, "I'll tell you something interesting." He walked a short distance away and rested against the cold stone wall of the cavern as he spoke, "Back when I was little, when I would read 'The Prince and the Raven' to Mytho, the thing he showed the most interest in wasn't what happened to himself nor the Raven. It was Tutu, who was only written about briefly. The part where Tutu turned into a flash of light and disappeared was what he always wanted to hear."

Fakir bowed his head slightly and closed his eyes as he admitted, "The reason he wishes to have his heart returned is probably because it is Tutu who's returning it to him." "But they said Mytho took out his heart himself," Ahiru pointed out hesitantly. "That's the kind of person he is," the young knight replied softly as he turned to rest his back against the wall, "To protect someone, those who are small and weak… That's Mytho's greatest wish. For the sake of that wish, he'll cast aside all self-regard. After he lost his heart, it was the one thing he didn't forget." This was the trait that he had long admired and often resented the most in the entire time he'd known his friend. Yet now, at long last, the resentment was gone. Only the admiration he had possessed as a child remained. Fakir opened his eyes and tilted his head back slightly with a fond smile on his face as he repeated, "That's the kind of person he is."

Fakir turned to look at Ahiru to find her smiling up at him and returned her smile as he held out his hand to her, "Let's go!" "Yeah," she nodded enthusiastically. The red-head then stood up and grasped the offered hand lightly in her own before they both headed down the stone corridor ahead of them. Eventually, he had to release her hand in order to climb over piles of fallen stone yet he always turned to help her clear the obstacles they encountered. They walked side by side down the corridor as it changed from stone masonry to carved stone to natural cavern walls. Soon they reached the end of the tunnel and emerged on the shores of a large lake illuminated by a beam of light shining down from somewhere high above. After so long in the dim tunnels, the change in brightness momentarily blinded the duo. Yet the second their eyes adjusted they immediately fixated on a familiar form lying unconscious on a flower strewn platform on an island in the middle of the lake. "Mytho," Ahiru cried as they both started to run forward. However, their progress was interrupted by a furious gust of black wind that staggered them. A black whirlwind formed on a white branch sticking out over the lake's surface. Kraehe had come.

The whirlwind faded to reveal the Raven Princess in all her glory as she smirked down at the pair of allies. Immediately, Ahiru triggered her own transformation and Fakir couldn't stop himself from staring. It was much more elaborate than the shift out of the magical ballerina state. The red-head stepped forward in Tutu's form and held out an imploring hand as she pleaded, "Please, stop doing this!" "I agree," Princess Kraehe replied coldly, "Let us bring this to an end." The blue-eyed ballerina gasped in surprise at the raven's response. Kraehe then held out a black box as she proclaimed, "The prince's feeling of love is right here." She then brought it up to her face and nuzzled it as she continued, "The feeling that loves this world and everything in it. It does not yet belong to anyone. You or me…which will it choose I wonder?" The Raven Princess extended her arm fully to the side as she smirked smugly, "Whose words will it be drawn to once we've laid our hearts bare? If the shard choses you, Tutu, I will return the prince and this shard to you." Fakir gritted his teeth in anger as he realized what Kraehe's plan was. She was going to force Ahiru to vanish as the story dictated! Her next words confirmed it, "Now, let us talk about your feelings. Okay, Princess Tutu?" 'Like hell,' he snarled viciously inside his head, 'I refuse to let Ahiru die! Not her! Not Mytho! Not anyone I care for ever again! No matter what it costs me I _will not let them die!_ '

 **A/N:** Why is it that climax chapters are always so bloody long?! Dear god, this was fun to write! Fakir is so adorable when he's freaking out…and I still find the whole part where he is more freaked by the fact that she saw him crying than he is the fact she is actually a duck to be absolutely hilarious. Priorities, man! Priorities! She's a freaking duck who turns into a human girl who turns into a magical ballerina princess! Fixate on that! The fact that she saw you crying is not that big a deal! Then again, this is Fakir we're talking about. Not going to talk too much about anything else right now. I want to get started on the next chapter. Oh, I am looking forward to it _so much_! See you soon!


	13. Wounded

**A/N:** I think I am about to pass out from sheer giddiness. I really do. Must write, must write, MUST WRITE! Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. I wish I did. But I will settle for watching the anime and reading/writing fanfiction about it. Because I am poor.

Chapter 13: Wounded

The young knight glared furiously at Princess Kraehe as she cruelly taunted his companion, "Whose words will it be drawn to once we've laid our hearts bear? If the shard choses you, I will return the prince and this shard to you. But even if I wanted to return them, by then, you'd be nothing but a speck of light." 'I won't let that happen,' Fakir vowed, 'I refuse to let Ahiru die! Not her! Not Mytho! Not anyone I care for ever again! Except…why can I not come up with anything!? Dammit, I _hate_ being tired!' He glanced over at his red-haired companion and frowned in concern. She was trembling faintly. Clearly, the one thing she _did_ know about the story was the fate that awaited Princess Tutu if she should confess her feelings of love. He didn't blame her for being afraid. He couldn't. He was afraid of facing the knight's fate, after all. Not as much as he used to be considering he'd made up his mind to trust Ahiru, but it was still there.

The young man tensed slightly as his attention shifted back to Kraehe when she laughed lightly, "If you truly love the prince, there is no reason for you to hesitate, right?" "Hey," Ahiru pleaded, "Why do we have to fight like this? Aren't we…" The dark-haired youth was uncertain as to how she intended to finish her question before it suddenly clicked. The diminutive ballerina was just as in love with Mytho as their current adversary was. However, based on her own admission, she had no idea _why_ she loved the prince…only that she loved him. Before he could consider that train of thought further, though, the Raven Princess interrupted the other girl coldly, "That's your fault. Because you returned the prince's heart shards." The transformed ballerina gasped in surprise at this accusation as her male companion scowled. He had a sneaking suspicion that the dark-clad ballerina was about to exposit in a way guaranteed to cause his new friend the most pain possible.

Kraehe's face was stern as she spoke, "The regaining of the prince's heart means that the story will begin to move once again. The story of 'The Prince and the Raven'… Everything began to move in accordance with their fates in the story. The knight will eventually be torn in two and die. Princess Tutu shall vanish in a flash of light. Days of bitter fighting will once again descend upon the Prince. That is the outline that has been set. Those are the fates that have been arranged." Fakir glanced away as she spoke and his scowl darkened. Those _were_ the fates the story had intended for them. That much was true. However, he had every intention of fighting to change them. He wasn't just going to meekly accept it as inevitable! Yet the Raven Princess had not finished and launched a vicious verbal attack, " _You_ are the one who set the story in motion! Even though no one wished for that… Isn't that right, Fakir?"

The young knight raised his head and met his adversary's gaze stoically. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the look of dawning understanding mixed with horror and regret spreading across Ahiru's face and viciously cursed Kraehe mentally. "For Mytho's sake…," she whispered sadly. That damned raven was directly attacking the red-head's convictions! Convictions he had finally come to agree with, and the young man wasn't about to let that stand. If Princess Kraehe would use words to attack, then he would return the favor! "That was definitely what I had thought before," Fakir stated evenly, "Now, however, Mytho wishes to regain his heart. I feel the same. You're the only one left who doesn't wish for that! Too bad, isn't it, Kraehe?"

The Raven Princess was unfazed as she smiled coldly," My, that certainly is too bad. Isn't it, my prince?" The white-haired young man who had been lying on the petal strewn altar slowly started to sit up as Kraehe continued to speak mockingly, "Just when you had returned to being the dummy you'd been before…" Both teens gasped at the sudden movement for they had thought him to be fully unconscious. A thrill of horror ran down Fakir's spine as his best friend's eyes opened to reveal they were completely blank and glazed over. They had never looked so empty before! "When I pulled that heart shard out of him," Princess Kraehe continued with a cold smile, "It seems that all of his emotions went to sleep again." "That can't be," Ahiru denied desperately before she cried out, "Mytho!"

'It's worse than that,' the young knight realized, 'He's been completely cut off from everything that makes him _Mytho_. Not even his desire to protect the helpless is left. I've never seen him look so hollow before and I _don't_ like it! Dammit, how can I fix this? How can _we_ fix this?!' "It's no use, Tutu," Kraehe mocked before she held out the box containing the heart shard and released it. The box reshaped itself into a sort of pillar that terminated in what looked like an open raven's beak which held the gleaming red shard in place. The Raven Princess then spoke again, "There is nothing more to discuss. My prince, take your sword." The empty prince obeyed before slowly climbing down from the altar he had been lying on and drew his sword. The two teens hurried a few steps closer to the water's edge before Ahiru asked uneasily, "What are you going to do?" Fakir had an idea, but he was desperately hoping he was wrong. Regrettably…he wasn't.

"You know, my prince," Princess Kraehe smiled at the empty young man, "It seems that the t shard of love is not worth enough to Princess Tutu for her to protect. In that case, let us shatter it right away! Smash it to pieces, so that it can never be whole again!" The hollow-eyed prince obeyed as the two who wished to protect him looked on in horror. 'Damn it,' Fakir swore in his head, 'No!' "Don't," Ahiru cried desperately, yet at the same time Kraehe also commanded, "Stop!" To the two on-looking teen's relief the blade stopped just short of striking the shard. However, the young knight didn't relax. The Raven Princess effectively had the ultimate leverage to get either of them to do whatever she wanted, and it was pretty obvious that she wanted to get rid of Tutu. Even if it meant forcing the other girl to effectively sacrifice her life.

"There is no other path for you to choose," the black-clad ballerina told his companion coldly, "Now, get on with it and let me see you vanish!" 'This is bad,' the young man admitted as he shot the red-head a concerned glance, 'She has us completely at her mercy…and Ahiru is just naïve enough to believe that raven will keep her word…' As if confirming his fears, the blue eyed ballerina bowed her head acceptingly as she replied with a gentle smile, "I understand. In exchange for that, once I've vanished, please don't do any more cruel things to Mytho." Both dark haired teens' eyes widened at how calmly she accepted her fate. A slight gasp even escaped Princess Kraehe before she laughed in amusement, "I was wondering just what you might ask for!"

"You…," Fakir started to address his friend, but the red-head cut him off to continue speaking to Kraehe. "Please, Kraehe," she continued to plead with a smile. "All right," the Raven Princess conceded with a cruel smile, "I'll love him even more than I have in the past. Enough to make him forget about you." "Okay," Ahiru agreed. 'You idiot,' the young knight snarled internally, 'You can't trust her! I don't want you to die! I won't let you! I already swore I would change _my_ fate and Mytho's… I can change yours too! I _will_ change our fates!' The only thing he could do was fight which meant he would be placing his life on the line, and he was okay with that. His fear meant nothing in the face of the diminutive ballerina's calm acceptance. He would cast it aside!

The young man stepped forward and called firmly, "Wait." Princess Kraehe frowned in displeasure, and the blue-eyed ballerina turned to look at him as he continued, "Why would you do something pointless like that? Are you an idiot?" The red-head gave him a look of mixed irritation and confusion as he walked up to stand just in front of her, "Idiot…?" "Don't trust what that raven says," Fakir addressed his companion as he glared across the lake at Kraehe, "If you vanish, who would restore Mytho's heart to him? Didn't you want to see Mytho's smile after you had returned all of the pieces of his heart?" The dark-haired teen then turned to look at the now stunned girl standing nearby as he finished with quiet intensity, "There is no one else who can accept Princess Tutu's fate with a smile. That's why you mustn't vanish!"

The young knight swiftly drew his blade the second he finished speaking and held it before him in a challenge as he declared, "I will change this fate!" Ahiru gasped at that, but Princess Kraehe was not so impressed. "Such a foolish knight," she mocked as she called on her magic to summon a group of humanoid ravens bearing swords – raven warriors – from above as the surface of the lake solidified. "You can't even get close to me," Kraehe responded coldly, "Even if you die in vain, you cannot change fate!" That was not something Fakir was willing to accept and he snarled back as he prepared to charge, "We'll see about that!" The young man charged forward without hesitation, but was intercepted by the first raven warrior. He vaguely registered his red-haired companion calling his name in concern, but was far more focused on _not dying_ than anything else.

Fakir noticed another two coming in for an attack as he strained against his current opponent, but he didn't panic. The dark-haired teen gracefully spun to knock the first warrior's blade away and, as the raven fell passed him, raised his own blade to intercept the incoming strikes. The second he felt their weapons connect, he leaned backwards slightly before twisting his sword and sliding it down. Then he lunged forward in a low strike that carried him under their blades and rent his attackers in twain. His first attacker was coming in for another attack and the young knight smoothly spun and swung his blade up in yet another fatal blow. He barely even had to think about how to respond as he fought on. The hours he spent driving himself to the breaking point practicing swordplay were paying of phenomenally. Again and again the ravens attacked, and again and again Fakir cut them down. Soon, the initial group had been decimated, but Kraehe had not hesitated to summon a second wave to surround the young knight.

Fakir was unfazed, and leapt high into the air as he flipped back over their heads. The ravens turned to face him, but he was already charging. However, he was also growing increasingly exhausted. During the first wave he had fought entirely in silence, but now he grunted in exertion with every strike he landed. His body was starting to vehemently protest the strain he was putting on it. Between the chronic sleep deprivation, the injuries he had already suffered, and now the strain of fighting for his life on top of that…all of this was just too much and it was screaming at him that it couldn't take much more. He persevered, however, until only three raven warriors remained to stand in his way. The young knight didn't hesitate to charge them and, as they opened their beaks in a parody of a battle cry, he felt his fear drain away entirely. 'I will not,' he proclaimed internally with each strike he landed, 'Be afraid… _any more!_ ' Fakir landed in a kneeling position after the last raven fell and he spun the sword in his hand to face backwards as he glared up at Kraehe. He then stood and swung his blade around to point it directly at the Raven Princess as he demanded, "Give Mytho back!" Princess Kraehe only narrowed her eyes as she replied calmly, "No." She then gave a quiet laugh which puzzled him…until he heard a soft splash from beneath his feet.

The entire time, the young man had been fighting on the surface of the lake which had been turned solid by the black-clad ballerina's power. As he looked down in dawning horror he realized that she was returning the surface to a liquid state…and he didn't have time to move! A short cry of surprise tore itself from his throat as he fell down into the lake, but he clamped his mouth shut before too much air could escape. Fakir had barely started swimming back towards the surface when a powerful jet of water surged up from below and launched him high into the air. Another yelp escaped him once he was thrown clear and his eyes widened when he realized just _how_ high he had gone. The young man heard a faint rustle above him and twisted to look; another conspiracy of Kraehe's normal minions was diving at him. As he watched, they suddenly transformed into a mass of razor sharp black blades. He gritted his teeth and gripped his sword tightly before twisting his body in mid-air to meet their attack. He had no doubt that the intent was for their coordinated strike to slice right through him. If he could just deflect enough of them he might be able to survive…

Seconds before the transformed ravens struck, the young man instinctively angled his torso just enough that, if any blades _did_ hit, the blow wouldn't be a direct hit. Fakir managed to deflect a few, but not enough. An agonized scream burst out of him as the black blades sliced into his body before he hit the water with a mighty splash. The force of the blades' impact combined with his falling momentum sent the badly injured teen deep under the surface of the water. Yet he wasn't beaten. He was still conscious, though his mind was nearly numb with pain, and he still had hold of his sword. The transformed ravens came around for another attack, and the injured young knight reacted on instinct. He had trained himself well. Even as the blood billowed from his injuries; even as the blades opened even more wounds in his flesh, he struck again and again until every last one had been destroyed. The damage had been done, however. Fakir's body was covered in so many wounds that he was at serious risk of bleeding out _and_ his lungs were starting to burn from lack of air, but he still wasn't willing to give in. Besides, he could hear Ahiru screaming his name. It was enough to clear his mind to the point that he could think again, and his thoughts raced furiously as he took in his condition.

It was clear what strength he had left would not last long, but perhaps…it would last long enough. He rapidly pieced together a rough plan he hoped would work. He had to try at least once more to save her…even if the plan he had hastily come up with would amount to little more than him giving her the chance to save herself. 'Ahiru…,' Fakir thought hazily as he immediately started swimming for the island while doing his best to ignore the way his vision kept graying out at the edges, 'I'll give you the best chance I can… I can at least do that much… I just…wish I could have done more…' Soon enough, he reached his destination and his hand shook as he reached up to pull himself out of the water. He panted weakly as he slowly climbed up onto the island and fought to stand upright. Eventually, he succeeded. The young knight was partly hunched over from the pain of his injuries, but he was still standing. He then turned and looked up at Kraehe with a weak smirk on his face as he whispered, "Well? My body is still in one piece." He then moved to grip his blade with both hands as he prepared himself for his next move. Princess Kraehe completely misinterpreted his actions as she smiled mockingly down at him, "But in that state, you can't even scratch me!"

Fakir's smirk widened slightly at that. He then mustered every last scrap of strength he had left to swing his sword up over his head with one last thought, 'Mytho, forgive me!' Kraehe suddenly realized his intentions as she gasped, "What are you…?" Seconds later, the blade fell on its target…and the prince's sword shattered into two. The sundered halves immediately turned into two white swans of light that flew up and away. However, the injured knight barely even registered that for his consciousness had already started to fade. "Now you can't shatter the heart shard," he murmured weakly as he staggered backwards half a step. The young man was utterly spent. He had nothing left, but still he struggled to remain upright for a few moments longer.

He had one last request to make. "Princess Tutu…," the wounded teen gasped out weakly before he started to fall backwards. He was fading fast, and he struggled to force out a few more words before his voice gave out, "You… Mytho's future is…" 'In your hands,' he finished with a faint sigh as his eyes fell shut, 'Please protect him…for I no longer can…' Fakir was out cold by the time his body hit the water and immediately started to sink lifelessly towards the bottom of the lake. A thin stream of bubbles trailed from his slightly parted lips and blood continued to billow faintly from his injuries. There was no way he could save himself in his condition. He would either drown or bleed to death unless someone else acted…and someone did.

Edel was not an ordinary puppet, even when you considered that her master was an insane Story Spinner – who also happened to be dead – with a fondness for using puppets as proxies. Even compared to the other unusual puppets in her master's collection she was unique…for she had a limited degree of free will. She could think for herself and form her own opinions on things…even if she still couldn't feel anything about them. In part, this was due to her origin for her body had been carved from the wood of a special oak tree that had stood in Goldkrone for many generations. So special was this oak that its spirit lingered in the location it once stood long after its physical form had perished. This tree had been aware, and could even communicate with people…if they had the right qualities. Edel had inherited much from this long dead tree; her awareness, her knowledge of stories, and her sense of right and wrong.

To the green-haired puppet, her master's actions were wrong. Not because of any sort of conventional sense of morality, but because he did bad things to stories for his own amusement. She wanted him to stop. However, she was only a puppet. Puppets obeyed their puppet-masters. She had not lied to Fakir when she told him she could not change things herself. The female puppet had been resigned to helplessly looking on as her master continued to abuse the powers he had been blessed with…then she met Ahiru. Ahiru who was so hopeful for the future, Ahiru who was so impossibly selfless, Ahiru who was kind to her and treated her like an actual person; the red-head inspired the puppet to at least _try_ to change things. Edel ended up fixating on the young man who carried the fate of the knight in the story. She felt drawn to him. He felt like her master in some ways, but in a lighter sense. Fakir felt like the sort of man she wished her master was.

The puppet had returned to her master's dimension after the two teens entered the subterranean passages. There she had watched silently as matters progressed and when she heard Fakir scream when the blades struck him something in her twisted. When he started to fall back into the water as he weakly begged Tutu to save Mytho that something – her restraint – snapped. Edel had a unique ability she had long kept hidden. She could move between dimensions at will without her master's direction. Now, though, now she needed to act more than she needed to maintain her cover as an unremarkable – relatively speaking – puppet. She traveled directly to the lake and materialized just below Fakir's sinking body. The female puppet reached out and took him into her arms before popping back into her master's dimension for a split second then popping back into Goldkrone. Specifically, she traveled to the main square before the large church. The puppet gently laid the injured young man on the ground, and placed his sword next to him before she examined his condition more closely. He was in bad shape. By twisting in mid-air before the blades hit, the young knight had prevented them from slicing him in half. Yet they had still torn open a massive gash in his abdomen that cut deep into the muscle and the wound was bleeding heavily.

The subsequent assaults after he'd hit the water had torn open new wounds along his arms, opened a long, shallow gash along his birthmark, another shallow gash across the back of his neck, and a slightly deeper gash just above his left temple. The blade that had injured his neck had also severed the cord holding his hair back, so it spread freely across the ground. Fakir was still breathing, but the breaths were shallow, short, and rasping from the water he'd inhaled. He was out cold and shivering weakly. Edel frowned as she realized the young man was at risk of dying from blood loss. This would not do. She deduced that the worst injury was the one on his abdomen and opened the jewelry case on her organ before ripping out the padding. She then pressed the padding tightly to the wound and held it there. Eventually, the bleeding slowed and she pulled the padding away carefully. However, Fakir's life was still continuing to slip away even though his other injuries had long since stopped bleeding. He had stopped shivering, his skin was deathly pale, and his breathing was now very faint. The puppet tilted her head to the side in confusion before she suddenly remembered that it was still winter and the nights were very cold. Also he was soaking wet from being immersed in the lake. Humans didn't tolerate cold exposure when wet very well, so it must be the cold that was still killing him.

Edel looked around for anything she could use to warm him up, but the only thing nearby was a torch. The heat from a torch wasn't nearly strong enough to revive the dying teen. He needed a fire which meant she needed wood to burn, but the only wood that was available… The puppet looked back at Fakir and only needed a few seconds to make up her mind. He needed a fire to survive, fire needed wood to burn, and she was made of wood. She stood, walked over to retrieve the torch, returned to the dying knight's side, and placed it on the ground. Then she methodically started to smash her street organ into splinters. Once that was done she turned her attention to breaking apart first her legs, then the lower part of her torso, and then her left arm into as many small pieces of wood as she could manage. Edel never felt the slightest hint of pain as she slowly turned her own body into firewood. By the time she was done she was lying flat on her back with a pile of wood right next to her and the torch lying just within reach by her head. She calmly stacked the wood around her torso until she was satisfied that the fire she set would burn long enough to save Fakir's life.

The puppet reached out to grab the torch and held it high over her broken body before looking over at the wounded knight one last time. She then spoke, "I do not know if you can hear me. Perhaps it does not matter whether you can or not. You see, I have a number of confessions to make that I cannot die without giving voice to. You know that I am a puppet. But every puppet has a master. Mine was Herr Dietrich Dewitt Drosselmeyer. I say was because I cannot go back to him now. Not because I am about to burn myself. I could not go back regardless. My master did not know I could act on my own to this degree. He did not know about the times I spoke to you except for the one at the bookstore. That was the only time our conversation was at his bidding. He knows now. Burning myself is a far kinder end than what he would choose, so I choose it freely. Do not grieve for me over much. I am only a puppet after all and my life is meaningless compared to yours or Ahiru's. She is…special. My master bid me to guide Ahiru in her role until she vanished and died. I do not want her to die. When I met you I realized you could change her fate. That is why I wanted you to team up. I am glad you did. She can help you as much as you help her. You are a perfect team for the weakness of one is countered by the strength of the other."

The puppet paused for a moment before she continued, "Now I have a request. I want you to stop my master. He does terrible things to stories. He must be stopped. You have the power to stop him. I know that now. Remember the gift you were given at birth, Fakir…and use it." Edel then smiled gently before she murmured, "Do not die. Not just because I asked you to stop Drosselmeyer, but because I want you to live. I want you to be happy just as much as I want Ahiru to be happy. So live, Fakir. My last wish…is for you to live and find happiness. Goodbye." She then let the torch fall from her hand and lay there quietly as the flames consumed her. She never took her eyes away from the unconscious teen and her last sight was of him weakly moving one hand to rest on his stomach over the wound. Her sacrifice had not been in vain. The heat from her pyre was reviving him. The last things she felt…were happiness and relief. Then the flames roared higher still and she knew no more.

Fakir felt as though he was drifting through a dark haze. He wasn't tired, sore, worried, or anything. It was nice. Part of him was screaming that he couldn't stay like this. That he needed to wake up because people needed him. That part grew more and more insistent until he reluctantly started to push back against the numb haze enveloping his mind. He knew he'd probably wish he hadn't, but his responsible side was right. He couldn't just give up and let himself die! All that would do would cause those who cared for him pain, and that was not something he would ever _willingly_ go along with. Slowly the darkness cleared and sensation started to return. The first thing he became aware of was the fact that his body _ached_. He was so very sore, but it was his stomach that hurt the most. He remembered being injured there, so it made sense. The next thing was that he felt warm and dry. That _didn't_ really make sense considering the last he recalled he was falling into the lake. 'Someone must have rescued me,' he realized, 'But who?' Fakir discarded the question for later as more sensations flowed back. It was difficult to breathe, but not impossible. He was lying on his back and he could hear a fire crackling nearby.

Slowly, the young knight cracked his eyes open and two familiar faces gradually swam into focus. 'Ahiru,' he noted with relief, 'She survived…I didn't fail …' "Fakir," Ahiru addressed him with a smile that matched him in the feeling of relief once his eyes focused, "Thank goodness." The injured knight shifted his gaze over to his friend and noted he was completely back to normal before smiling faintly as he allowed his relief to show, "Mytho…" He then returned his gaze to the red-head's face as he continued weakly, "I see, Tutu…you saved Mytho… Thank you." He really _could_ trust her. It felt nice…having someone he could rely on. Ahiru's expression softened as she told him, "It's because you were there. I was able to be strong because of you, Fakir." The wounded knight blinked in confusion at that. He had barely done anything worth noting. Yes, he had successfully overcome his fear at last and fought off two waves of raven warriors without getting so much as a scratch. Yes, he had removed the hold Kraehe had over the red-haired ballerina. But he hadn't been able to get rid of the Raven Princess nor save his friend. Hell, he'd nearly gotten himself killed because he'd been careless enough to ignore the consequences of fighting on a surface kept stable by the will of his enemy. It was a foolish mistake. "Me," he murmured faintly, "How?" The fire suddenly let out a crack and the three teens looked over at the flames. Before their eyes, Edel's spirit materialized from the fire and Fakir cringed internally as he realized not only who had saved his life, but what it had cost her.

"Edel-san," Ahiru said sadly. Marshalling his strength, the young man propped himself up on his shoulders as he gazed sadly at the flames. "Then the one who saved me was…," he murmured tiredly. "You're the one who guided us here," Mytho asked. "Why," the red-head pleaded. "I'm just a puppet," Edel's spirit replied, "I just wanted to try imitating having a human heart." "Edel-san," the blue-eyed ballerina repeated as she started to cry. The injured knight flicked his gaze over to his new friend before he looked down in shame. Edel wouldn't have had to sacrifice herself if it weren't for him… "Really crying, getting angry, and laughing," the specter listed off wistfully, "I may have always been envious of that. But I have no regrets. So don't cry!" Ahiru closed her eyes and shook her head, "That's impossible! My tears won't stop!" Fakir pushed himself the rest of the way up until he was sitting fully and returned his gaze to the flames. 'She isn't the only one who feels the need to cry right now,' he admitted to himself, 'I do too, but I can't. Not right now. I am so sorry, Edel… I am sorry my carelessness cost you your life. I'll make it up to you somehow. I promise.'

"I want to see you and the prince dance at the end," Edel's spirit requested. "Don't say it's the end," Ahiru exclaimed tearfully prompting a faint wince from the injured knight. He was _not_ going to stop feeling guilty any time soon. "Please," the specter requested one last time before she faded with a final _true_ smile, "Dance a pas de deux with the prince." The red-head gasped at the pure emotion on the puppet's face as she faded away before Mytho addressed her, "Princess Tutu. Let's dance." Fakir moved to stand to get out of the way, but doubled over in pain as the movement aggravated the injury on his abdomen. A strangled grunt slipped out of him as he gritted his teeth against the agony. "Fakir," the blue-eyed ballerina exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "What is it?!" "Moved wrong," the wounded young man answered shortly, "Give me a minute." "You're still injured," the prince realized as he moved closer to his friend, "Perhaps you should stay there." "Edel wants you two to dance and you can't do that with me lying here," the green-eyed teen pointed out quietly. "Then we'll help you move," Ahiru offered. "There's no need," the injured teen protested weakly. "You're lying," the white-haired young man countered. Fakir was too tired and sore to argue further, so he merely sighed and looked away as he finally conceded, "Do what you want…"

Carefully, the two uninjured teens helped their friend over to the fountain. Fakir carried his sword with him seeing as it would also get in the way of their dance if he left it. The second he was settled, the pair returned to the fire and started to dance. The injured knight watched them passively as he rested. His wounds still hurt, and he suspected the one on his abdomen had started bleeding again because he could feel something warm trickling down from it. Yet he said nothing. It wasn't as though it was bleeding heavily, after all. He could handle it. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. In reality, his body was still teetering on the edge of total collapse. He was barely recovered enough to move, and was desperately in need of rest. However, that would have to wait a little longer. Until his friends had finished their dance and they had all returned to the dorms. Only then would he allow himself to rest. Until then he would remain the watchful knight looking over his two charges. He'd decided, around the time he decided he would not allow her to vanish, to adopt her as his charge as he had with Mytho. It felt right for him to look after her safety as well. However, unlike Mytho, his wish to protect her was not borne of a sense of duty. He was going to protect the red-head simply because he wanted to; because he liked her. She was his friend now, and Fakir would _always_ do everything he could to protect his friends and family. That was just the kind of person he was.

 **A/N:** And that is chapter 13! I had _so_ much fun writing this! The battle! The injuries! Fakir's plea to Tutu! Edel's sacrifice! The aftermath! I have had this all planned out for _ages_! It feels _so good_ to finally have it done and out of my head. Now I just have to write the rest of the fic. I did stick in my own bits of lore here and there. The Edel being connected with the Spinner's Oak thing is something I picked up from a couple of other fics. I liked the idea, so I adopted it while giving it my own spin. Unfortunately, I can't cite one of the fics in question because I don't remember what it is called or who wrote it. It was the idea and the story that stuck. Not the title and author. This is often the case with me. The one I _can_ cite is called 'This Pendent Heart' by LunaSphere. Go read it! It's good! And needs to be made into season three for the show and become canon! I like it that much. As for Drosselmeyer's name…it's just the name I settled on. I have a list of German names on my computer. I just picked two that I liked the sound and meaning of off of the list that both started with 'D'. I like names. I have multiple lists of names saved to my laptop that I copied down either off of web sites or baby name books I checked out from the library. I like learning what they mean. Actually, I just like words and languages. I like learning what they mean and how they evolve over time. I have since my third grade teacher did a unit on Greek root words. Best. Teacher. Ever. She made learning _fun_. My love of names evolved from my love of words and languages. It's useful for writing, I can tell you that. Next chapter is _NOT CANON_! It is purely my own invention and never happened in the series. Basically, it is me imagining what happens between the end of episode 13 and the start of episode 14. Not covering the entire gap. Just part of it. Because I can. See you then!


	14. Aftermath

**A/N:** And now it is time for what is effectively a transition/ interlude chapter. As I mentioned last time none of the events I am about to write took place in the show. They are purely the products of my imagination. I hope I can make it fit seamlessly into the rest of the sequence of events. I want it to feel natural. Like it _could have been_ in the show, but was cut for time…or something. Things to be covered include getting Fakir back to the dorms, how Ahiru is able to ask Fakir about his injuries without making Mytho curious about how she knows that since only Tutu was there, when Fakir asked Charon to try to salvage something of Edel by making her remains into a new puppet, and Fakir _finally_ telling Mytho why he had a problem with the prince getting his heart back. Nothing as intense as last chapter, really. Just little things that I either wondered about in the show and wanted to cover, or things I hinted at earlier that need to be resolved so it isn't a dangling plot thread. On the one hand I hate them because it is sloppy writing…on the other I love them because plot threads inspire me to write fanfic. Hooray for ambivalence. Let's get started then.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. I wish I did, but I have no money to buy it with. I am an unemployed 31 year old college student. Broke or almost broke is my natural state of being.

Chapter 14: Aftermath

The fire in the middle of the square was dying down by the time Mytho and Ahiru finished their pas de deux. Fakir sighed tiredly – and coughed when the action aggravated his water-logged lungs – as his two friends relaxed from the final pose of the dance. He stifled it as much as he could, but they still noticed and both headed over. "Fakir," the prince knelt by his injured friend, "You don't sound like you're doing too well." The wounded knight gave the other young man an annoyed look as he continued to cough before swallowing hard as some of the water still in his lungs came up. "It's nothing serious," he finally rasped, "My lungs are just a bit irritated." The red-haired ballerina's eyes widened and she gave the bloodied young man a worried look, "You were unconscious when you hit the water, weren't you?" Fakir looked away before he nodded shortly in response, but remained silent. Mytho frowned anxiously, "You were drowning." The injured young knight winced, but nodded a second time before he replied softly, "I was." The two uninjured teens shared a concerned look before they returned their focus to the battered teen. Ahiru suddenly knelt down and pressed her head up against the dark-haired young man's chest which, naturally, freaked him out a bit.

"W-what are you doing, moron," Fakir stammered as he leaned away. "Listening for water in your lungs," Ahiru replied before leaning in a second time. This time the wounded young man held still, though his face started to flush faintly. "How do you even know what to listen for," he asked quietly. "I don't really," the girl replied as she pulled back, "But I do know what breathing is supposed to sound like. Yours is a bit wheezy." The young knight gave a shallow sigh before he reluctantly admitted, "It's a little difficult to breathe right now. Water in my lungs would explain that." Mytho gave his friend a worried look, "Then why aren't you coughing more?" "Because I don't want to start bleeding again," Fakir replied tiredly, "Once I've bandaged all these damned cuts I'll stop suppressing my need to cough. Which means we should probably start heading back soon." The abdominal wound had stopped oozing blood mid-way through their dance, but he knew it could easily start again if he wasn't careful. The injured teen was almost certain that the walk back to the dorms would be enough to rip it open. However, there was no way he was going to accept being carried back or anything. That would just be humiliating. He was simply going to have to hope he could make it back without passing out on the way. Ahiru frowned uneasily but said nothing as Mytho helped the weakened knight to his feet. "Thank you again for saving me, Tutu," the prince offered, "Will you walk back with us?"

Ahiru hesitated as she gave Fakir an uncertain look. The wounded knight flicked his head to the side slightly indicating she should go on ahead and drop Tutu's transformation. She could meet up with them again at the dorms and pretend she had been waiting there the entire time. Hopefully, she could come up with a half decent excuse to explain _why_ she was waiting. The red-haired ballerina nodded slightly with a faint smile before returning her attention to the prince and curtsied as she replied, "I'm afraid I can't. There is somewhere else I must be. I'll see you again sometime, my prince. Sir Fakir." The injured young man rolled his eyes slightly at the title, but bid her a polite farewell…much to Mytho's surprise, "Till then, Tutu. Take care." The blue-eyed ballerina beamed broadly at the young knight before she ran off into the mist. Fakir did his best to ignore the white-haired teen's startled stare as he sheathed his sword before giving his friend a look, "Let's go, Mytho." "Ah, right," the golden-eyed young man blinked and reached out to grab the taller teen's arm to help him walk. However, the injured youth pulled his arm away, "I can make it back on my own. I only passed out because I was tired." That wasn't entirely true. It had been a mix of exhaustion and losing _a lot_ of blood in a _ver_ y short period of time. But the wounded young man figured the other teen didn't need to know that. Besides, he was fairly sure he could make it back to the dorms without _too_ much trouble. The two teens walked away from the dying embers of the fire and into the night.

Fakir was starting to realize he may have under-estimated just how badly injured he was. The two young men were almost back to the dorms, and the wounded teen was not doing very well. His vision kept going out of focus and was starting to go dark at the edges. He felt extremely light-headed, and to say that moving hurt was an understatement. Every step sent a jolt of agony shooting through his cut and battered body. Much as he'd suspected, the gash across his abdomen had started bleeding again shortly after they started walking and had not stopped once. It was all he could do to keep moving and remain conscious. The dark-haired teen was not willing to show just how much he was suffering, though. His pride wouldn't allow it. The only sign his friend had that he was having trouble was that he stumbled every so often and that he kept one hand firmly pressed against his stomach. Yet Fakir couldn't quite hold back the relieved sigh that escaped him as the gates finally faded into view. Mytho glanced worriedly at his injured friend, but didn't say anything. He may not have known _exactly_ how bad his knight's condition was, but he did have a feeling that the last thing the taller teen needed was to waste energy on talking. Soon enough a familiar diminutive figure also came into view standing just inside the gates. 'Ahiru,' the wounded knight thought hazily as he recognized her silhouette, 'She made it back…'

"Ah," Ahiru called out shortly after the injured knight identified her, "Mytho! Fakir! You're safe! I was so worried!" "Ahiru," Mytho called back as he walked quickly over to the diminutive ballerina, "What are you doing out so late?" Fakir prayed fervently that the girl would have a believable excuse ready, and he was not disappointed. "Eh? Um… You didn't come back to the dorms after I saw you the other day," the red-head explained shyly, "I was worried and talked Fakir into letting me help look for you the next morning. We searched together for a while, but then he suggested we split up to cover more ground all of a sudden. He ran off before I could ask why. I tried searching on my own for a while, but when the sun started going down I came back here. Only neither of you were back yet, so I got even _more_ worried… I went up to my room to grab my first-aid kit just in case either of you were hurt when you got back, and came back down to wait. I've been here ever since…" The prince smiled kindly at the blue-eyed girl, "I see. Thank you." The wounded young man smirked weakly as Ahiru blushed and stammered, "E-eh?! For what?!" "For caring," the white-haired young man explained, "And trying to help. You're a good friend." The girl blushed even more and it occurred to Fakir that she was really cute when she was embarrassed. Then again, she was always cute…regardless of her current shape. He could admit that now. As he drew near, the red-haired ballerina looked over at him and her eyes widened in horror as she noticed just how much worse he looked. He was almost as pale as he had been when he was freezing to death and visibly trembling with exhaustion.

"Fakir," the red-head inquired hesitantly. "Mm," Fakir responded faintly. "Are you all right," Ahiru asked with a worried frown. The injured knight had just opened his mouth to reply when his body suddenly gave out. He'd pushed himself too far. Instead of telling the girl he was fine as he had intended, a weak moan slipped out as his eyes fell shut and he started to collapse. Mytho's eyes widened in horror as his best friend's knees buckled and immediately moved to catch the wounded teen. "Fakir," the two uninjured teens cried out worriedly, but they got no response. The dark-haired young man had completely passed out and hung limply from his friend's arms. The only sign that he was even still alive was his shallow, raspy breathing. The prince carefully lowered them both to the ground and rested his injured knight's head against his shoulder as he shared a frightened look with Ahiru. "Fakir," the white-haired young man pleaded, "Hang on!" The red head knelt next to them and immediately started checking him for injuries. She gasped in horror as she uncovered the massive gash across his stomach and saw just how much blood was soaked into the fabric that had been concealing it…and that it was still bleeding sluggishly. "Mytho," she murmured insistently, "We need to get him inside. I can't treat his injuries out here." Mytho nodded as he paled slightly at the sight of the blood covering the diminutive ballerina's hands from just a brief search. Clearly, Fakir had been far more badly injured than he had let on.

The two uninjured teens carefully snuck into the boys' dorm and up to the young men's room with Mytho cradling his unconscious friend close to his chest. He was deeply worried for the injured teen was far too pale for his liking. The second Ahiru opened the door the white haired teen hurried over to Fakir's bed and gently laid his friend's battered body on the mattress. He was surprised when the diminutive ballerina pushed him to the side, set her first aid kid down next to the comatose young man, and started pulling off the tattered remains of his shirt to get at the injuries it covered. As the fabric came away both teens gasped and paled at just how many wounds covered their friend's torso. However, the red-haired girl did not hesitate and immediately set about cleaning and bandaging every last one of them. The blue-eyed ballerina was inwardly freaking out at the prospect that the taciturn young man might actually die just when they'd finally started getting along. She _liked_ the real Fakir. He was a nice person once you got past his prickly exterior. She didn't want him to die!

Mytho was also freaking out, but mostly because he felt horribly guilty for the condition his best friend was in. The second he and Tutu had found the young knight lying unconscious he had been taken aback by the strong surge of relief he'd felt upon finding he was still alive. He'd been puzzling over that reaction for most of the walk back until it occurred to him that the other teen was like a brother to him. The dark-haired young man had always been there; had sworn an oath to protect him as his knight when he was but a child. He remembered that and the fierce devotion in the face of the boy his friend had once been. 'Fakir,' the prince realized with a twinge of pain, 'Is my dearest friend, and the truest and most loyal knight I could have ever asked for. And he may now be dying before my very eyes…because of me… Please, don't die! I can't lose you too!' He vaguely remembered losing someone he had been just as close to once before. It had hurt terribly. He didn't think he could bear to lose Fakir as he had this mysterious individual from his barely-recalled past. No. He _knew_ he couldn't bear it.

Finally, Ahiru finished bandaging the wounded knight's injuries and heaved a heavy sigh. Fakir hadn't stirred once the entire time. Even when she had been working on the massive gut wound he didn't react in the slightest, and she had pressed down _hard_ to get the bleeding to stop. That should have at least gotten a moan or a twitch, but he had remained completely unresponsive. Yet, in spite of that worrying fact, he hadn't grown any paler and his breathing had remained steady. "Will he be okay," Mytho asked as the red-head started packing away her kit. "I think so," she replied uncertainly, "I'm more used to treating injured birds, but he should be fine. You'll need to change his bandages every so often though and check to be sure none of his injuries get infected." The prince shot a look of mixed gratitude and admiration at the blue-eyed girl which made her blush furiously as she stammered, "W-What?! What is it?!" "I can never thank you enough for this," he told her earnestly, "I don't know anything about treating injuries or the like. At least, I don't recall knowing such things. It seems my memory has more holes in it than I realized" "Eh," Ahiru blinked in shock, "You mean like amnesia?" The white-haired teen shrugged, "Quite possibly. I remember some things, but most of what I _do_ recall only seems to highlight that there is even more missing." The diminutive ballerina hesitated and almost asked him what he remembered, but decided against it. It would be rude to pry. "Well," she smiled shyly as she stood up, "I hope you get the rest of your memories back soon!" "So do I," Mytho smiled back. The red-head blushed again before stammering, "U-Um, I should…um…get back to my room! Class tomorrow! Bye!" She then bolted before the startled prince could even react.

After Ahiru left, Mytho set about removing the rest of the injured teen's tattered clothing and replaced them with his sleeping shorts. The shirt he left off for fear of disturbing the bandages. He then pulled the sheets up to his friend's chest before settling himself on his own bed…and watched. Mytho spent the entire night watching his unconscious friend. As he focused on the slow rise and fall of the dark-haired young man's chest he reflected on everything that had happened. He could feel so much _more_ now than he could before, and those feelings painted his memories in a very different light. He had finally realized just how seriously Fakir took his oath, and it worried him. The white-haired teen didn't remember much about his past, but he did vaguely recall that knights typically led hard lives. As he reflected on his memories, he realized that his best friend was no exception. Between the nightmares, constant worry, stress headaches, and now nearly dying…the young man had clearly been suffering for a long time. It made the prince feel guilty for the pain he'd caused his friend. Mytho sighed sadly as he realized he had taken his knight's devotion for granted. 'Never again,' he vowed firmly, 'I will never let Fakir suffer for my sake _ever_ again!' It was _his_ turn to watch over the young man who had given so much over the years to protect him.

Fakir didn't stir until late the following afternoon. Mytho had not left the room that entire time. The injured knight winced and groaned faintly as his awareness returned. "Fakir," the prince called softly as his friend's eyes slowly fluttered open, "How are you feeling?" Pain dulled green-eyes drifted over to the shorter teen and blinked slowly before their owner replied in a faint, hoarse whisper, "Sore….and tired." The weakened young man then coughed harshly as the water lingering in his lungs reminded him it was there. His white-haired friend rushed forward and helped the dark-haired teen roll over onto his side to make it easier for him to clear his lungs. Eventually the coughing fit ended and the wounded young knight swallowed hard with a pained wince. "Did you get it all out," the golden-eyed young man asked concernedly. Fakir nodded weakly before another faint groan slipped free. Mytho frowned in concern at how lethargic his friend was.

The taller young man had always been an active, intense, and fiercely independent person. Seeing him so weak and vulnerable…felt wrong. "Do you need me to get you anything," the prince asked softly. Fakir started to shake his head before he froze, and then murmured faintly, "Charon… I need to talk to him…" "Will you be fine on your own if I go look for him" the golden-eyed teen checked uneasily. "Yes," the dark-haired knight sighed before shooting the shorter young man a weak smile, "Shouldn't worry so much… That's _my_ job…" The prince blinked in surprise as he realized the injured teen was making a joke at his own expense in an attempt to get _him_ to relax. He never knew his friend had a sense of humor. Still, if he was able to tell jokes he should be fine on his own for a little while. "Okay," Mytho nodded, "I'll be back soon." He then left to fetch the smith.

The injured knight watched his friend leave before sighing tiredly and closing his eyes. He felt _terrible_. Hitting the water as hard as he had the other night had given him a nasty collection of bruises on top of all the cuts and gashes, so he really _was_ sore. His back was one solid mass of ache. His lungs were also not happy from being water-logged for so long and Fakir was praying that he wouldn't get sick on top of everything else. Of course the universe hated him, so he wasn't getting his hopes up. A raging chest cold or something would just be par for the course. Saving Ahiru had _definitely_ been worth it, though, and she _had_ saved the prince on his behalf once he'd broken Kraehe's hold over her. The only thing he _might have_ regretted was _not_ charging for the Raven Princess the second he had cut down the last of her warriors. Maybe he could have made it to the island before she changed the lake surface back into water if he had. Then again, this _was_ a maybe. It's possible the outcome would have been the same regardless which made regret somewhat pointless.

Fakir cracked his eyes back open and focused on the bandages around his forearms as he continued to reflect. Honestly, if he regretted anything it was that Edel had sacrificed her life to save his. Her advice had been helpful though he had not thought so at the time. It was only once he'd come to accept everything Ahiru was that he truly appreciated the puppet's words. She had been right all along and he wished he could have thanked her. Plus her death had clearly been devastating for the red-haired girl. He flinched as he recalled the ballerina's tears over the puppet woman's fate. It had hurt him to see the blue-eyed girl in pain, and he decided he would do what he could to make it up to her. That's why he wanted to talk to Charon. Hopefully, the man would be able to fulfill his request. An idea had occurred to the injured teen while on the way back to the dorms, but he'd passed out before he could do anything with it. It was a bit of a longshot as Fakir wasn't entirely sure the smith would be able to do what he had in mind, but he owed it to both Ahiru _and_ Edel to try.

The wounded young man had dropped off into a light doze after a while, and startled awake when the door suddenly opened. "Fakir," Charon cried out in concern as he rushed to his son's bedside, "Are you all right?! What happened to you?!" "Charon," the young knight greeted with a slight wince as he rolled onto his back, "Calm down… I'm fine." Mytho shook his head as he shut the door behind him after walking in, "You most certainly are _not_ 'fine'. You've been unconscious for over twelve hours and were completely unresponsive that entire time." "I'm not dead," Fakir clarified with a tired glare at his friend, "Or dying. I've been better…but I'll heal." "That still doesn't tell me what happened," the smith pointed out as he started to relax a bit. "The Raven's avatar…doesn't believe in…fair fights," the wounded knight replied softly, "She launched a…sneak attack after I…defeated her minions. I survived, but…" The young man trailed off as he looked down at the bandages covering his wounds and sighed softly without continuing further. The outcome was pretty obvious. Charon frowned, "I see. I take it the Raven wants you dead then." "Yes," the young knight murmured before smirking weakly, "I keep getting in her way." Mytho and the teen's parental figure both sighed in exasperation at how the dark-haired young man clearly took pride in that.

Mytho then turned to look at his friend, "I'm going to go grab us some food. Do you want anything in particular?" Fakir blinked in surprise then shook his head slightly, "Not really." The prince nodded and left leaving the young man and his father figure behind. "Feels weird being the…one looked after," the wounded knight admitted quietly. "I'm not surprised," Charon chuckled, "Considering you've been the one looking after him for so many years." The man then gave his son an inquisitive look as he continued, "So what is it you wanted to talk to me about? I imagine telling me about your injuries wasn't it." "It wasn't," the green-eyed teen confirmed before he looked down and away slightly, "I need your help…with something." "What is it," the smith inquired gently. The young knight sighed before he started to tell his adoptive father about Edel, the advice she had given him the past few months, and her death while doing his best to leave out just how close he had come to actually dying. He didn't want the man to worry. It took a while because talking strained his lungs. He had to stop for coughing fits and wait to catch his breath after they ended.

Finally, Fakir got to his actual request, "I want to give her a…second chance at life…so I was wondering if you…could use the unburned wood…to make her a new body." "I'm not much of a wood-carver," Charon pointed out, "You realize that even if I make a puppet out of the wood that it may not even animate. Let alone carry Edel's spirit if it does." "I know," the young man admitted, "It might not even work, but…" "I'm willing to try," the smith assured his son, "It'll be an interesting challenge either way. So the wood is in the main square, correct?" "Yes," the dark-haired teen nodded, "If no one's moved it." "I'll swing by on my way back home," the older man promised. Fakir smiled weakly in thanks before yawning. He was still very tired. "Get some rest," Charon told his son gently. The young knight nodded and allowed his eyes to fall shut as he drifted off once more. The smith kept watch as the injured teen caught up on some much needed sleep until Mytho returned, and then left to carry out the young man's request. He grabbed the Lohengrin Sword from where it rested against the wounded teen's bed as well. Swords weren't allowed on campus, after all, and the last thing the older man wanted was for his son to get in trouble for having a forbidden weapon in his room.

Fakir spent most of the next four days asleep and only awoke long enough to eat the food his friend brought back before dropping back off. Mytho realized his injured friend needed the rest, but the more time that passed the more he impatient he felt. He'd realized he _really_ needed to talk to the taller teen. Eventually, though, the dark-haired young man recovered enough to remain awake long enough to have a decent conversation. "We need to talk," the prince stated flatly after his knight finished eating. "About what," the malachite-eyed youth asked as he leaned back into his pillows. "I almost lost you," the white-haired teen frowned. "Come again," the young knight blinked in confusion. "You nearly died, Fakir," the golden-eyed teen's voice shook as he elaborated, "I have never seen you look so weak and broken before, and it scared me. I can't lose you! Please promise me you won't ever put yourself at risk that way again!" Fakir's expression softened before a sorrowful one spread across his face as he realized he wouldn't be able to do as his friend asked. "I can't promise that," he admitted regretfully, "My oath requires that I put my life on the line for your sake sometimes. It's a consequence of being a knight and one I've come to accept." "Why," Mytho demanded desperately as tears beaded in the corner of his eyes, "Why do you have to sacrifice yourself for me?!"

"Because I swore to protect you at all costs," the injured young man replied solemnly, "Even if it cost me my life I will do what I must to keep you safe. Because I am your knight, my prince, and I am also your friend. Fealty binds me to keep my word, and so do my feelings of friendship. I would rather die than see you or anyone else I care for suffer. Because this is the life I chose." "Are you saying you _want_ to die," the prince nearly panicked. "Hardly," the green-eyed youth scoffed, "I'd rather live, but I am _willing_ to risk death if it becomes necessary." "Fakir," the white-haired young man murmured sadly before he shook his head in amazement, "You are more of a knight than I am a prince… I only recall bits and pieces of who I was before…" The young knight blinked in surprise at his friend's words. He hadn't realized his memories were being restored along with his heart. "What have you remembered so far," he asked curiously. "Feelings mostly," Mytho replied sheepishly, "Impressions. About the only concrete memories I've gotten back are of locations. I vaguely recall individuals I had known, but I don't remember what they looked like or their names. Just how I felt about them." Fakir hummed thoughtfully, "I suppose it's better than nothing at all." "Yeah," the prince frowned uneasily, "Only…"

"What's wrong," Fakir shot his friend a concerned look. "Some of the impressions I'm getting," the other teen admitted slowly, "Feel really bad. Something terrible happened in my past. A lot of terrible somethings. I want to remember what they were, but at the same time I don't. Does that make sense?" "In a way it does," the knight replied thoughtfully, "Our past shapes who we are. Nobody wants to remember the bad things, but they are still important. Are you afraid to remember what you have forgotten?" "Not really," Mytho smiled softly, "I want to know who I was. Both the good and bad parts. I just feel a little anxious is all." "That's normal," the malachite-eyed teen assured his friend, "Besides you aren't the only one with holes in your memory." The golden-eyed young man gave his wounded friend a startled look, "What?!" "There are parts of my childhood from before I met you that are completely blank," Fakir explained as he lightly tapped the side of his head, "No impressions. Nothing. The memories simply aren't there. I don't know why I don't remember, and I don't really feel a need to find out. They'll either come back eventually or they won't. I'm not going to waste the effort fretting over it." "But you just said feeling anxiety was normal," the prince pointed out with a puzzled frown. "Normal for other people," the knight confessed awkwardly, "I worry more over you than I ever have over myself."

Mytho frowned at this admission, "That's not healthy." "I know," the wounded young man replied with a resigned smile, "But I've been like this for years now. Choosing to set my own needs aside is one of the few decisions I've made in my life that I feel no regret for." "You regret your decisions," the prince asked curiously. "Some of them," Fakir admitted, "The ones that never felt right to begin with certainly." "Like what," the white-haired teen inquired. "Allowing Rue near you in the first place, locking you in that closet, leaving you in the mill alone the day Kraehe first appeared," the young knight ticked off on his fingers one by one then hesitated on the last one before softly confessing, "Interfering in the return of your heart shards for as long as I did…" The golden-eyed gaped at his friend, "You…want me to get my heart back now?"

"I do," the dark-haired youth nodded firmly, "At this point it's safer if your heart is returned and the Raven defeated once and for all than it is for your heart to remain incomplete." "Why were you so against it in the first place," Mytho frowned. "I did promise to tell you at some point," Fakir mused, "May as well be now. I guess I should start by saying that I really did believe it was the safest option for all of us. Your heart's restoration carries heavy consequences, and I didn't feel I could handle them on my own." "I'm listening," the prince stated as he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees with a look of eager curiosity. The injured knight laughed softly at his friend's enthusiasm before his expression turned serious, "First off, I've known since the day I met you who you were and what you had sacrificed to seal away the Monster Raven. When you both came to Goldkrone, and you were unable to defeat it, you took out your heart and shattered it to seal the Raven away. The shards of your heart are what are keeping the seal intact, and if your heart should return to you in full that seal will break and the Raven will be completely unleashed."

"I thought Kraehe was the Raven reborn," Mytho pointed out. "In a sense, she is," Fakir explained, "She inherited the Raven's power and some of its will, but I don't think she was faking her feelings for you before she awakened. From what the story described, the original Monster Raven loathed you and wanted to devour your heart. Kraehe, on the other hand, seems to actually care about you, but her ways of showing it are twisted. Her powers would indicate that she is still connected to the Raven in some way, but is not a direct reincarnation as I had originally feared. Anyways, the Raven's release was only part of the problem." "What was the other part," the prince asked. "Parts," the young knight clarified before he continued, "One of the others was the consequences that you would face as a result. You'd be forced to fight and suffer again if the Raven was released. I treasured your innocence and peaceful existence so much that I wasn't willing to see you lose it. Being emotionless meant you were free of the negative emotions along with the positive ones. I had figured keeping you free of misery was worth sacrificing your ability to be happy as well. Next there was the potential threat posed to the citizens of Goldkrone. If you were unable to defeat the Raven, and it killed you before you could seal it away again, then they would be at the Raven's mercy. And mercy is foreign concept to the creature according to the original story. I've had recurring nightmares of such outcomes for years…" "But you wouldn't let the Raven kill me," the white-haired teen protested, "I know you!"

"And so we come to the final part," Fakir sighed, "My fate, according to the story, is to perish in a futile attempt to defeat the Raven before it goes on to challenge you. If I fight it I could die and I basically grew up being terrified of that happening. Needless to say, I've had nightmares about that as well." The prince stared at his friend in shocked horror, "You're going to die?!" "Not if I can help it," the young knight smirked, "So far I've managed to avoid dying the way the story entails. I'm sure you remember what happened to the knight from all times I've read it to you over the years." Mytho nodded silently with a ill look on his face, "I'm starting to wish I didn't…" The dark-haired teen's smirk turned bitter, "You and me both. It wasn't the thought of my death that scared me, though… It was failing to protect you. I felt the best way to keep you safe and avoid the risk of failure was if the Raven's seal was never broken. To that end, I would do whatever it took to prevent your heart from being restored because, so long as you remained heartless, all of us would remain safe. If your heart hadn't started to return, the story would have remained stalled and we would have all lived out our lives in peace. That's how I used to see it, at least. I realize now that it was extremely unfair of me to expect you to live out the rest of your days as a hollow shell. Besides, you haven't aged a day since you lost your heart, so you might have ended up spending the rest of eternity that way. It wasn't fair to you. You deserve the chance to be happy the same as anyone else, and I would be a lousy friend if I continued to deny you that chance just because I was afraid."

"That's…far too much for _anyone_ to handle on their own! Why did you take all of this responsibility on yourself," Mytho asked. "Up until recently, I was the only one to know anything about this whole mess we're in and also be willing to do something about it," Fakir sighed tiredly, "Rue knew, but had her own ambitions. Tutu was oblivious and only recently learned the basics of what we're up against. Thankfully, even that little bit is enough for me to be willing to accept her assistance in some matters." "I thought you hated Tutu," the prince frowned in confusion. "I resented her for starting the story up again," the young knight clarified, "I never actually hated her." "But you said you were willing to raise your sword against her," the white-haired youth pointed out. "Because I wasn't sure I could trust her," the taller teen explained, "If she became a threat to your safety my oath would demand I act to stop her before you were hurt. I didn't _want_ to harm her, and I still don't. Yet if I have no other choice I will. She understands that about me. Working together to save you did a lot to help us learn to trust each other." "So you trust her now," Mytho asked. "Enough to consider her a firm ally," Fakir nodded. He wasn't about to tell his prince that he actually considered the girl to be his friend. That would be far harder to explain without skirting dangerously close to revealing Ahiru's secret. He wasn't risking that.

Mytho shook his head in disbelief, "I can't believe you've been keeping all of that to yourself for so long." "If there's one thing I'm good at its keeping secrets," Fakir quipped dryly. He then yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Do you need to sleep some more," the prince inquired concernedly. "Probably," the young knight admitted, "It's not just the blood loss I'm recovering from. I've been extremely sleep deprived these past few weeks, and my body is _apparently_ taking this chance to catch up on what it lost." "Just how little sleep have you been getting," the shorter teen demanded worriedly. His taller friend hesitated a few moments as he calculated before slowly admitting, "The week we were at the mill I was lucky to get 3 hours per night if I slept at all. The night Kraehe first appeared I didn't sleep at all and I wasn't able to sleep the following night because of guilt. I slept pretty well the night after that, but the one following I may as well have been awake all night for all the rest I got out of it. Damned nightmares… The next night was another peaceful one, but it still wasn't enough to compensate for all the sleep I'd lost up till then. Finally, you had been abducted the night after that, so I didn't really get any sleep with all the searching I was doing. I…wasn't doing very well even before I was injured." Mytho frowned and pointed at his friend, "Sleep. Now. That's an order." Fakir laughed softly as he slid down under his covers and readjusted his pillows, "As you command, my prince. I hear and obey." The prince gave his friend a look before rolling his eyes in exasperated amusement. The dark-haired teen's sense of humor was an odd one, but it was a welcome change of attitude as far as the shorter young man was concerned. It was nice to see his friend lighten up a bit.

Fakir's recovery was steady over the rest of the week. When he wasn't sleeping or chatting with Mytho, he was doing his best to finish the rest of the paper he had been assigned. The white haired young man had managed to gain his injured friend an extension on the assignment after explaining to Mr. Katze how the taller young man had collapsed from exhaustion and been very ill the past few days. It wasn't a complete lie as exhaustion _had_ been part of the reason, and he _had_ been very weak from blood-loss which _sort of_ counted as being ill. The prince had refused to lie flat out, so the young knight had been forced to come up with the excuse they had gone with. Still, it had worked. His absence from class had been fully excused and he had just enough time to finish that blasted assignment. The second it was finished, and he'd edited it to his satisfaction, the dark-haired teen handed the paper off to his friend to be turned in. The two young men's friendship had grown much stronger since the taller of the two had been injured. Mytho had learned a great deal about his best friend from their conversations. Fakir had held very little back. About the only thing he _hadn't_ spoken of was his newfound friendship with Ahiru and how it connected to his changed perspective on Tutu. It had been a good week…pity the peaceful times were not to last…

 **A/N:** And that is the interlude chapter done. I did give a little character development for Mytho even though this fic isn't from his point-of-view. There is a reason for that. Basically, it's a teaser. I am thinking about doing multiple versions of this perspective shift format. Meaning I am considering writing another version of the story from Rue's perspective, and yet another from Mytho's. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading either. Now before I leave you I want you to consider the things Fakir told Mytho. Now I want you to think about all the things the Raven Prince says to Fakir in the coming episodes. You can just _see_ the daggers being thrown at the poor guy's weak points, can't you? These next chapters are going to _suck_ for Fakir. Not because he gets injured again, but because his best friend is about to effectively betray him. Not by choice, of course. Yet…it is still going to hurt. A lot. Poor Fakir. Well, I will see you all next chapter. We get back to canon then! Later all! **Present day edit: …Well, I clearly did a good job on this chapter first time around. I only had to fix one thing. Nice!**


	15. What the-!

**A/N:** Back to canon and the point where the series starts to take a darker turn! This is going to be interesting to write because now is also when I get to play around more with Fakir's growing regard for Ahiru! In short…build-up to him realizing he has fallen hopelessly in love with the girl. That part is canon according to the series creators. What isn't canon is Ahiru returning those feelings. They left that part up in the air. So this pairing is in the odd realm of being half-canon and half-fan created. I'm going to stick with canon for this meaning Fakir is definitely going to be in love with Ahiru, but she isn't going to be in love with him by the end of this. I leave the reciprocation part of their relationship to my other fics… Now let's get started, shall we?

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. If I did the series wouldn't have ended with Fakir's feelings being unrequited. He deserves to be happy, damn it!

Chapter 15: What the-?!

 _Fakir opened his eyes to find himself standing in the mist shrouded forest for a third time. Once more he was clad in the knight's regalia and had an unfamiliar sword at his waist. He immediately started scanning the mist until he finally spotted a lone figure in the distance. 'Mytho,' he wondered as he started to walk forward, 'or Ahiru?' He didn't feel any sense of urgency for once a she walked over. Somehow he knew the ravens would not attack this time around. As he drew close he realized it was the ballerina and not the prince who was waiting. He wondered why she was alone in the forest when every other time Mytho had been there to keep her company. "Ahiru," the knight called as he drew near, and the girl turned to look at him. The mist swirled around her feet, but the rest of her form was completely unobscured. "What are you doing here," Fakir asked as he came to a stop in front of her. The ballerina only smiled at him and mimed a request to dance in response to his question. The young knight hesitated for a few moments before he took her hand in his. He could think of no reason to refuse her request._

 _The two started to dance a slow pas de deux. The young man didn't recognize it from any ballet he knew, but that didn't cause them any real difficulty. It was as though they instinctively knew what their partner was going to do before they did it. He had never meshed this well in a dance before with anyone and he found he was enjoying himself immensely. The knight and ballerina princess continued to dance through the mist, and as they danced the mist started to pull away revealing they were dancing on the surface of a lake. Yet Fakir barely noticed. All of his attention was focused on the girl he was dancing with. He had no idea what it was about her that captivated him so. Soon, however, their dance came to an end and the two teens stood on the lake's surface staring at each other. Ahiru smiled brightly at him before she hugged him tightly. The young knight blushed slightly as he returned her hug; he wasn't used to this sort of thing. Particularly from a girl close to his age, yet he found he quite liked it. This felt_ _ **right**_ _._

Fakir's eyes snapped open with a sharp gasp before he slowly sat up and stared blankly at the mirror across the room. 'What the hell,' the teen thought as a blush started creeping across his cheeks, 'Was up with that dream?!' It was far from being a nightmare, but he was still weirded out by it; mostly because his dream-self's actions made no sense to the young man. His normal reaction to suddenly being hugged was to shove the initiator of the hug away and glare at them. Exceptions were made for those he saw as family or was exceptionally close to. He was _not_ that close to Ahiru, though. He certainly saw her as a friend, but hugging was not something he was comfortable accepting from her any time soon. Yet his dream-self had not only accepted a hug from the girl, but reciprocated it. And enjoyed it. A lot.

"Well, at least it wasn't a nightmare," he sighed quietly as he stretched and got out of bed. The early morning light filtering through the curtains were a clear enough indicator that there was no point in going back to sleep. Besides, he wasn't tired. He'd slept well the night before and – thanks to the hours of sleep he'd gotten over the last week – he was fully rested for the first time in a while. Mytho was still sleeping, so Fakir did his best to minimize how much noise he made as he made his way to the bathroom to change his remaining bandages. The only ones he really had left were the ones over the cut on his stomach, and those on his right fore-arm. The cuts on his left arm had fully healed a while ago, but those on his right had taken longer for they were deeper and more numerous. They were fully scabbed over and healing well enough, but the white-haired teen had insisted they leave the bandages on a little longer.

The abdominal wound, however, was a different story. The edges and deeper sections had closed up, so the risk of bleeding had dropped considerably. However, there was still one long section in the middle that liked to ooze blood if he moved around too much. It wasn't life threatening, but it did limit his activity level more than he liked. To the young knight's surprise and relief, the wound had fully scabbed over when it was uncovered. He might actually make it to class today. That would be a relief. Fakir was getting incredibly bored hanging around the dorm room every day, but Mytho refused to let him leave. The young knight was mildly amused by the role-reversal the past week had placed him in. The prince was almost as over-protective a care-taker as he had been only much less inclined to harsh outbursts. Part of this was because the dark-haired teen was _trying_ to be a good patient and mostly went along with his friend's wishes. The other part was just that the golden-eyed young man was just naturally soft-spoken and serene.

Fakir re-bandaged his injuries and quickly washed up before heading back out to get dressed. He emerged to find Mytho groggily sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. "Morning, Mytho," the young knight greeted as he headed over to his dresser. "Morning," the prince replied sleepily before blinking hard a few times and shooting his friend a disapproving look, "What are you doing out of bed?" The dark-haired young man rolled his eyes as he replied, "I'm mostly recovered and you know it. You don't need to worry so much." The white-haired teen sighed, "I can't help it. You really scared me last week." "I know," the green-eyed teen replied quietly as he pulled out his uniform and turned to face his friend with a soft look on his face, "I _am_ sorry about that, but…" "It's all right," the other teen smiled sadly, "I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." Fakir sighed, "If it makes you feel any better, all of my remaining injuries are fully scabbed over now." "Even the one on your stomach," the golden-eyed young man inquired with a raised brow. "Yes," the dark-haired knight replied with a faint grin.

Mytho frowned thoughtfully as he studied his taller friend. He certainly _looked_ much healthier. In fact, aside from the bandages he looked completely normal barring a few faint scars from some of his deeper wounds. Yet he still felt uncertain about whether it was _really_ okay for his knight to be up and about. Even with the assurance that the worst wound had finally scabbed over, the prince couldn't fully dismiss his concern. However, he also couldn't deny that Fakir had been growing increasingly impatient with his confinement. Some might think turnabout was fair play considering how aggressively the dark-haired teen had once sought to confine _him_ …yet Mytho didn't feel comfortable with that. Besides, he trusted his friend. "Do you think you can handle classes today," the prince finally asked. "Providing I take it easy," the taller young man smiled reassuringly, "I'm not going to push myself until I can leave the bandages off for good." The malachite-eyed knight knew that jumping right back into his old practice schedule would do more harm than good at this stage. Light in-class drills he could handle, but only that.

Mytho smiled and nodded, "All right. You know your limits better than I do. I'm sure Ahiru will be happy to see you're doing better." "Ahiru," Fakir blinked in surprise. "She's been asking after you every day this past week," the prince admitted as he got up to grab his own uniform. The taller young man frowned thoughtfully as he carefully changed clothes. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Ahiru was one of the most caring people he'd ever known and his collapse must have frightened her badly. Still – for all that he now considered her a friend – he wasn't entirely used to the thought of her being concerned for his sake. His experience with how friendships were _supposed_ to work wasn't the best; perhaps because for so long his only friend hadn't really reciprocated much. He was used to being the only one who cared. Now that was changing and he was still trying to adjust. 'First Mytho now Ahiru,' the dark-haired teen sighed as he buttoned up his jacket, 'It's strange having people other than my family concerned for my well-being.'

He wasn't entirely sure how to deal with Ahiru's concern. 'Teasing her would be a pretty clear indicator that I'm back to normal,' he admitted with a faint smirk, 'Besides, her reactions are cute.' Mytho finished getting changed at about the same time as his friend even though he had started later. Fakir wasn't taking any chances with reopening his injuries. He'd had enough of being an invalid, so he was taking things as slow as possible. "You're sure you're up to managing classes," the white-haired young man asked having noticed how cautious his taller friend was being. "I'm sure," the young knight replied firmly. Just because he was being careful didn't mean he was incapable. Mildly reassured, the prince nodded and grabbed their books. "I can carry my own books, you know," the green-eyed young man quipped with a wry grin as he held out his hand expectantly. The golden-eyed teen rolled his eyes in amusement, but turned over the taller teen's books without a word. Now set, the two young men headed out down for the first floor.

Shortly after they exited the boys' dorms, Mytho paused and tilted his head to the side, "Oh, there's Ahiru." Fakir followed his friend's gaze and smiled faintly as he saw the red-head running frantically out of the girls' dorms. Some things never changed. The two started walking over when she paused beside the fountain and looked up at a particular window. The young knight frowned as he realized it was the window of Rue's old room. According to the white-haired teen, the Raven Princess' alter-ego had been absent the entire week he'd been out. It made him uneasy. He was certain she was up to something. The dark-haired teen noticed his friend had positioned himself directly behind the blue-eyed girl and caught her as she was edging away from the building. "Good morning, Ahiru," the prince greeted with a smile. The malachite-eyed young man sighed and started walking over as the diminutive ballerina turned around to look up at the golden-eyed youth with a faint blush across her cheeks and awkwardly replied, "G-Good morning, Mytho."

Fakir noticed her eyes widen slightly in surprise when she noticed him before a relieved smile crossed her face, "Oh, Fakir… Are your injuries all healed?" Mytho had not been lying. She really had been worried about him. Unfortunately for her, the young knight _had_ decided that light teasing was his preferred response. "Hmph," he scoffed lightly as he raised his right arm to show the bandages still covering it, "They're finally getting better, but seeing your face has made them start aching again." Her reaction was entirely worth it as she glowered at him and clenched her hands as though she wanted to strangle him. She really was adorable when she was annoyed. Sadly, the prince completely missed the playful intent behind his words. "She was worried about you since you'd been out of class for a week," the white-haired young man scolded, "You shouldn't talk to her like that, Fakir."

'If she can't tolerate a little teasing,' the dark-haired teen quipped internally as he rolled his eyes at his friend's scolding, 'Then she's not going to handle being my friend for very long.' Teasing his friends was one of the few bits of immature behavior he allowed himself, after all. Fakir sighed quietly as the prince returned his attention to Ahiru, "Don't worry about him, Ahiru. Will you keep being friends with me? You're the only friend I have that I can talk to about anything." The young knight flinched internally at the reminder that, in spite of how open _he'd_ been this past week, Mytho still felt uncomfortable talking to him sometimes. Meanwhile, the red-head had been the golden-eyed teen's confidant for well over a month now. It hurt a bit, but he didn't blame the girl. How could he when he knew exactly why his friend was so reluctant? The prince may _understand_ why he'd been so adamant about preventing his heart from being restored….but Fakir knew full well that _understanding_ didn't necessarily equate with _forgiveness_.

All of this was being processed in the back of his mind as Fakir continued to observe the interactions between his two friends. "Okay," the blue-eyed girl replied with a smile before her expression turned pensive. 'What is she thinking about,' the dark-haired teen wondered with a frown before a worrying thought occurred to him, 'Mytho talks to her about everything, but she's keeping the truth about her identity a secret. Knowing her, she's feeling guilty about that. Which means I'm going to have to stop her from doing something stupid, aren't I?' "Ahiru," the white-haired young man inquired curiously at her changing expressions as she thought. Sure enough, the diminutive ballerina raised her head moments later with a nervous look on her face and started to stammer, "Umm, I… Well, actually… really, I…" 'Idiot,' Fakir grumbled internally as she stumbled over her words, 'Just shut up and let me handle this.' "Princess Tutu," he declared firmly. Much as he expected, the red-head freaked out and let out a startled quack at his sudden outburst.

The young knight smoothly stepped between her and Mytho so his taller frame would block her as he continued with scarcely a break in the flow of his words, "Is flying though the sky." He grabbed his friend's shoulder and turned him around while pointing as he spun his lie further, "Or is that a crocodile? Which do you think it is, Mytho?" Fakir glanced back behind him to where Ahiru lay sprawled on the pavement and was surprised to note she was in duck form. He filed it away to ask her about later and gestured for her to run and hide as the clueless prince replied, "I don't see anything. Anyway, Princess Tutu and a crocodile are two completely different things, Fakir." To his relief, the duck girl got the hint, gathered up her clothes astonishingly fast, and darted behind the fountain. "Fakir," the white-haired young man asked as he looked back at his taller friend. Not for the first time, the young knight was immensely grateful for the fact that his friend tended to be completely oblivious about when he was being lied to. "Oh? Right," the dark-haired teen pretended to muse as he slipped in one last playful barb, "Maybe it was my imagination. I'm sure I saw something that looked like a flying cow…" "A cow," Mytho blinked in confusion. "Nevermind," Fakir brushed it off as he turned to walk over to the fountain Ahiru was hiding behind and took a seat on the rim, "Don't worry about it." It hadn't been the best or most convincing lie he'd ever come up with, but it had worked. 'Not bad for something I made up on the fly,' he smirked internally.

"You're acting weird, Fakir," Mytho gave his friend an odd look before he suddenly noticed Ahiru had vanished, "Huh? Where's Ahiru?" "Who knows," Fakir lied easily, "She probably didn't like the way I was talking to her and went on ahead." "I guess so," the white-haired teen acknowledged as he moved to join his taller friend on the edge of the fountain before scolding gently, "You have to be nicer to girls, Fakir." The dark-haired teen was amused that the shorter teen was scolding him about being nicer to girls when only a little over a month ago he'd been completely oblivious to the consequences of his actions. It just went to show how much had changed. The young knight pushed his feelings of amusement aside though. He figured he owed it to the duck girl to ease her feelings of guilt, and had already figured out how to coach his friend into telling her what she needed to hear.

"How do you feel about Princess Tutu," he asked his prince as he closed his eyes. "Why are you asking me this, all of a sudden," Mytho blinked in confusion. "She always disappears after she returns a piece of your heart," Fakir elaborated, "Do you want to know who she really is?" "Well, sure," the prince replied promptly then hesitated a few seconds before he continued with a thoughtful expression, "But maybe right now it's best for me not to know. I think that someday she'll decide to tell me. For now, I think it's more important to get all of my feelings back as soon as possible, with help from Princess Tutu…" The malachite-eyed teen sighed in relief internally, 'On that we can agree. And now Ahiru knows she shouldn't feel obligated to tell him everything about herself before she's _really_ ready…'

"You'll help too, right, Fakir," the prince inquired. Fakir smirked faintly as he replied, "Well, I am your knight, after all." "I was certain that you would say that, Fakir," Mytho turned to his friend with a soft smile on his face before he slowly got to his feet and continued seriously, "And then, I will return to the story." Somehow, the young knight had always known that would be how his friendship with the shorter teen would end, but it still hurt a bit. Yet he didn't let the pain show in his voice as he asked, "That's what you want, right?" "I'm the prince of the story, after all," the white-haired young man replied firmly as he glanced back at his knight. "I see," the dark-haired youth acknowledged quietly before he stood as well. "Shall we go," he asked the shorter teen with a faint smile, "If we're late, Mr. Katze will be angry." "Okay," the golden-eyed teen nodded sharply and turned to walk away. The green-eyed teen lingered a few seconds longer and half-turned back to look at Ahiru's hiding place as he murmured, "You're so annoying." He smirked slightly as an irate quack reached his ears while he was walking away. If he wasn't careful, he could become addicted to teasing that girl. Her reactions were just so amusing!

The rest of the walk to campus was uneventful. Fortunately, they arrived early enough that Fakir could take his time changing into his practice clothes. Yet before that, the bandaged teen took the time to track down their feline instructor and informed him of the fact that he was still recovering from his 'collapse'. "I might not be able to meet my normal standards," the young man admitted ruefully. "That is fine," Mr. Katze replied, "The last thing I want is for one of my top students to injure themselves because they got too ambitious. I've warned you in the past about how hard you push yourself during your individual lessons not to mention all that extra practice you put in. I hope you'll set yourself a more reasonable schedule in the future." He'd probably end up cutting down on the amount of time he spent practicing for a while anyways if only to give his injuries time to finish healing. Still, it wouldn't hurt to reassure the anthropomorphic feline somewhat. "It won't happen again," the young knight stated before heading to get changed.

Fakir winced as he started to warm up in preparation for the start of class. A week of inactivity was apparently enough for his tendons to lose some of their elasticity. Not much, but enough that it hurt more than usual when he stretched. Getting his body back into top condition was going to be a major nuisance; he could already tell. There was also the problem posed by the partially healed gash across his abdomen. He could feel the scab start pulling on some of his stretches and had to stop short before he tore it open. It frustrated him because he wasn't able to stretch out as fully as he would like. 'It would have been better if the blades had hit my chest or something,' he griped internally, 'Every time I twist or bend that damned cut is affected! It's like Kraehe was _trying_ to give me the most irritating injury possible if I was lucky enough to survive. Damn her…' The young knight continued warming up and only vaguely noticed when Ahiru arrived. He was paying more attention to how his movements were affecting his worst remaining injury. The better idea he got of his limitations before the lesson actually started the better off he'd be. This was unfortunate as he missed out on the most hilarious excuse he would ever hear her give. If he _had_ heard it though he would have been hard pressed not to start laughing because she had used _his_ flimsy lie to Mytho as the foundation.

Before the actual lesson started, Mr. Katze gave his usual lecture. "All right, everyone," the anthropomorphic feline addressed his students, "In ballet, the most important thing is practice, second is practice. Three, four, and five are practice, too. So just why do we practice at all? We do it to master the basics. Today, I'm going to tell you a story." Fakir was actually slightly interested for once. A story would be a nice change of pace. Especially, since the feline's constant harping on them to practice made his earlier cautioning of the young man's habit of practicing 'too much' a bit hypocritical. The young knight let out a soft chuckle as the cat-man loomed over Ahiru shortly before he launched into the actual story as he finished, "Listen carefully _without_ letting your eyes wander!" That poor girl just couldn't catch a break. "Yes," the red-head exclaimed forcefully, "Of course!"

The feline instructor calmed down shortly after her outburst and took on a more wistful mood as he spoke, "Yes, it was back when I was a student in ballet school. I happened to get the chance to observe Mr. Nyadzinsky practicing." "Nyadzinsky," the dark-haired teen heard his blue-eyed friend wonder aloud as the rest of the class expressed their amazement. He wasn't surprised she hadn't heard of the famous dancer. She _was_ originally a duck after all. The young man could hear her friends filling her in before Mr. Katze continued, "It was when we ballet students were helping Mr. Nyadzinsky set up for a performance. I was but one year and three months old." 'Cat years,' Fakir commented internally, 'Approximately the equivalent of a 17 or 18 year old human. I remember the strangest things from the books I read…'

"A cheeky young cat," the teacher continued wistfully, "I was stacking boxes behind the curtains when I noticed someone on the stage. I peered out from behind the curtain and can you guess who it was I saw? Yes, it was Mr. Nyadzinzky himself… The man called a genius for his novel choreography and his jumps that people called miraculous. But that day, all Mr. Nyadzinsky did was just slowly, very slowly, practice the basics over and over again. He noticed me watching, and before I knew it, I was asking him questions. 'I thought a dancer as famous as you would have a more special practice routine,' I said. This is the reply I was given… 'Someone who hasn't mastered the basics cannot achieve advanced techniques or a noble spirit.'"

Mr. Katze paused momentarily to walk over to the piano and pick up a small white box before he walked back to where he had been standing in front of the class. Fakir watched curiously as the feline opened the box and revealed the beat up pair of ballet shoes resting inside. "These are the shoes that Mr. Nyadzinsky gave me on that very day," the anthropomorphic feline informed his students reverently as he set the box back on the ground and placed his paw on his chest, "And I swore on these shoes that I would devote my life to ballet." 'So basically, the reason he is so passionate about ballet is because he was inspired by his meeting with Mr. Nyadzinsky, and he wants us to practice the basics more than anything,' the young knight concluded before rolling his eyes, 'Just what does he think I devote the first half of my extra practice sessions to doing? I _had_ to push myself just so I could stay on the same level as Mytho. It's easier to keep an eye on him if we're in the same class…'

The feline instructor picked up the box one final time as he finished passionately, "Even though these shoes are quite damaged, to me, they are the most beautiful shoes in the world!" The lecture ended, and the anthropomorphic feline's demeanor changed entirely. "Because of how important a firm grasp of the basics is to mastering the advanced forms of ballet," Mr. Katze announced sternly, "Today I want all of you to drill your basic forms. We will dedicate our entire morning session to these fundamental routines. You will not be masters by the end of class today, but your grasp of the basics should be much stronger." Honestly, a morning of easy drills worked for the injured teen. He was pretty sure he could manage them without stressing his stomach wound. Still, he took his time on the drills. Less out of perfectionism and more because he was paying close attention to how each movement pulled on the healing gash. As a beneficial consequence, every move he made was impeccably precise and drew the anthropomorphic feline's attention. "Now this," the teacher announced, much to the dark-haired teen's ire, as he drew the other students' attention to where he was practicing, "Is the sort of focus I want from you students!" Fakir growled under his breath as he continued his drills without pause. Just because he was annoyed by the unwanted attention was no reason to stop practicing.

"Even though he has missed a week of class, Mr. Fakir has not allowed his form to slip," the cat-man proclaimed erroneously. The young knight hadn't been able to practice because moving could have torn his wounds open. This was all muscle memory. "I expect all of you to show the same dedication to practicing your basics," Mr. Katze finished. "You're leaving out that I practice upwards of five or six hours per day," the dark-haired teen pointed out loudly as he continued his drills, "Every day. Every week. Every month. Every year since I started attending the Academy. And that you think I push myself too hard when I practice. Which is fair considering the whole reason I missed class in the first place was because I collapsed from exhaustion and needed the week off to recuperate." "Yes well," the anthropomorphic feline stammered, "There is such a thing as practicing _too_ hard." Fakir scoffed quietly with a small smirk as he continued practicing. _That_ should teach that cat to use him as an example for the rest of the class. The young knight ignored how most of the other students spent the rest of the joint session staring at him in awe. The amount of effort he put into perfecting his grasp of ballet forms was not common knowledge after all. There was a _reason_ he was as skilled as he was even though he had no experience with ballet prior to enrolling. He'd worked hard to become so.

Fakir noticed Mytho had vanished by the end of the class and frowned in concern. That wasn't like him. 'He _did_ devote all of his energy to helping me recover from my injuries,' the young knight considered, 'Could he have worn himself out in the process?' It was possible. 'I hope he isn't ill or anything,' he worried as he left to get changed back into his uniform. "Fakir," Ahiru called as she ran up to him after he exited the changing room to head to his first lecture. The dark-haired young man paused and waited for her to catch up. "What," he asked shortly once she came to a halt just behind him. "Do you really practice that much," she asked curiously. "Yes," Fakir replied tersely, "I do." "That's amazing," the red-head breathed in amazement, "Do you think that if I practiced that much I could get better at ballet?" The young knight froze as a mental image of the clumsy ballerina trying to push herself as hard as he usually did before he winced at the thought of how badly she'd end up crippling herself. "Start with two or three hours to build up your endurance and work from there," he advised as he did his best to banish the surprisingly graphic fantasy his mind had produced, "Mr. Katze thinks I push myself too hard for a reason. I don't want you hurting yourself because you tried to do more than your body can handle."

"Why does he think that," Ahiru inquired as they both started walking to their next classes, "You don't seem to have any trouble in class." Fakir sighed heavily, "Do you have any idea how many times I've come close to permanently crippling myself during my personal practice sessions?" His risk of accidental injury was far lower these days, but…that had not always been the case. "Eh," the red-head yelped, "How many times you've _what?!_ " "I know exactly where my limits are, and just how far I can push passed them without causing permanent damage. But I didn't learn this without a fair number of close calls. I've strained muscles more times than I can count," the green-eyed teen confessed quietly, "I've come within a hair's-breadth of tearing numerous ligaments and tendons. There were days I hurt so bad that it was a struggle to get out of bed. I push myself past the limits of my endurance when I practice and the results are not always pleasant. I think it's worth it, but only because I know my body can handle the strain I put on it. There's no need for you to push yourself as hard as I do myself."

"Okay," Ahiru nodded hesitantly, "Um…" "What now," Fakir sighed again as he looked down at his companion. "Why are you keeping your injuries a secret," she asked. "Can you honestly come up with an explanation for my being injured as badly as I was that doesn't sound suspicious," the young man countered. "Eh…no…," the red-head admitted, "No, not really." "Neither could I," he stated evenly, "And Mytho is a lousy liar, so he had even less luck. Not to mention he hates telling lies in the first place. Exhaustion is part of the reason I passed out last week, so we just made that the full reason when Mytho went in to excuse my absence. As you may have guessed, my history for pushing myself 'excessively' when I practice on my own makes that a believable excuse." "Then how do you explain away the bandages," the blue-eyed ballerina asked. "Tripped and landed badly on my wrist while I was recovering," Fakir spun smoothly, "Exhaustion can cause all sorts of uncharacteristic accidents." Ahiru frowned and opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, but they arrived at the point where their paths split off. The young knight was two years ahead of the red-head, so he had different classes. The diminutive ballerina made a soft noise of irritation before she sighed and smiled up at the taller teen, "I guess I'll see you some other time then?" "More than likely," he agreed before he bade her a polite goodbye, "Till then." The dark-haired young man then walked down the hall towards his first lecture of the day.

The next class period passed without any sign of his absent friend, and the young knight was growing increasingly concerned. He knew his friend was capable of looking after himself in most situations now that he'd gotten a fair bit of his heart back. He also knew he could rely on Tutu to rescue the prince when the dark-haired young man was unavailable for whatever reason. He knew all of that, yet it was not enough to keep him from worrying about where Mytho was. Fakir eventually couldn't take it anymore and cut the rest of his morning classes to go looking for his friend. He didn't care if he got in trouble for skipping out without permission! He just needed to know that his friend was safe! The dark-haired teen doubted the other teen was even on campus anymore otherwise someone would have spotted him. They likely wouldn't have _done_ anything, but the rumor mill would have immediately picked up on any unusual behavior from the popular young man. There were no new rumors, so he most likely wasn't on campus. That left the dorms as the next place to look. The young knight headed straight for their room and tensed slightly as he noticed a number of ravens hanging around the two buildings. 'Not a good sign,' he fretted as he ran into the boys' dorm, 'Not a good sign at all.' "Mytho," he called as he opened the door to their room, and relaxed slightly as he saw his friend resting in bed. Yet he also grew even more concerned. Was the white-haired teen sick or something?

"Mytho," Fakir asked with a concerned frown, "You're back?" The white-haired young man looked slightly tired as he glanced over at the approaching teen, "Fakir…" "You disappeared in the middle of the lesson," the green-eyed young man stated as he drew near to the reclining teen before taking a seat on his friend's mattress, "Where did you go? I was looking for you." "I wonder what's wrong with me," Mytho mused vaguely, "I started to feel sick, and after that…" Considering how sharp the other teen had been lately, this sudden vagueness was unsettling. Still, the young knight did his best to ease the shorter teen's concern. "You can want to go back to being the prince, but that doesn't make it possible at this point," he pointed out as he looked away, "Don't try too hard."

The dark-haired young man didn't notice the softly mocking smile that crossed the prince's face before he spoke, yet the words still hit hard, "And become like you, is that what you're saying?" Fakir immediately turned to look at his friend in disbelief, "What?" That was such an uncharacteristically cruel thing for the golden-eyed young man to say that he was certain he had misheard. Yet the strange shift in tone was still present as the white-haired teen continued, "That's impossible for me." Mytho then gave an odd smile before his tone turned darkly whimsical, "Hey Fakir, have something to tell you. Will you listen to me?" Fakir frowned; his friend was acting very strange and it was making him nervous. "Always," the young knight replied uneasily, "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, it's just something interesting that happened earlier," the prince laughed lightly as he sat up, "Do pay attention, though. I'd _hate_ for you to miss any details." Mytho's tone was oddly light yet there was a hint of cruel amusement threaded through it as he spoke, "Mr. Katze's shoes seem to be very important to him, don't they? It would be terrible if something were to happen to them. I'm sure he'd be absolutely _devastated_ if the symbol of his dedication to ballet were to be…damaged somehow." "They're a cherished memento from a man he respected," the young knight stated as he watched his friend warily, "Anyone would be upset under those circumstances. Why would you bring up such a thing?" The white-haired teen swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed and stood as he continued, "Patience, Fakir. I'm getting to that. You see, I couldn't stop thinking about how much Mr. Katze _loved_ those shoes. All through his lecture they kept hounding me. Even during the morning drills I couldn't stop thinking about those shoes."

Fakir had a bad feeling about where this was leading, but remained silent as his friend started to walk over to the window. "I left to get some fresh air," Mytho explained in an oddly dreamy tone, "I thought perhaps it would help me clear my head, but no… I still couldn't stop thinking about how _important_ those shoes were. I saw Mr. Katze bringing them with him after class, and followed him back to his office. He didn't notice me. He left the shoes alone in the room before he left to lecture the beginner classes. They were all alone. In their box. With nothing to protect them." The prince laughed darkly as the dark-haired teen stood and walked up to him, "I went into his office and took the shoes. They were nothing special once I held them in my hands. Just flimsy scraps of cloth, yet they would not stop _tormenting_ me. So I grabbed a pair of scissors from out of his supply cabinet, and returned to the lesson room. Then I took the scissors…and cut them into shreds!" Fakir felt a chill shoot through him as stared at his friend in shocked horror while the other teen calmly took a seat on the window sill, "What? Is that true?"

"It's probably turned into a big uproar by now," Mytho stated with his eyes shut in satisfaction before he laughed again. "Why did you do that," the young knight demanded. The white-haired young man was _not_ a destructive person! Nor was he inclined to damage the possessions of those he respected on a whim. Something was wrong here. "Shoes filled with many precious memories and dreams," the prince mused dreamily before he giggled again, "Is it funny… It's funny, isn't it, Fakir?" A strange light was shining in the golden-eyed teen's eyes as he looked up at the taller young man with an odd smile on his face. A light similar to what the dark-haired teen recalled seeing in Kraehe's eyes at the art building the day he'd found Ahiru's damaged pendant.

The malachite-eyed young man was now even more worried and grabbed his friend firmly by the shoulders as he demanded, "Hey, Mytho! Is something going on inside of you?" "What if something is," Mytho countered mockingly, "Will you try to break apart my heart with the sword again? But that sword is gone now, isn't it? After all, you broke it!" 'Even his _words_ sound like Kraehe's now,' Fakir realized as his fear about what was happening to his prince grew and he released the other teen's shoulders, 'Could she have done something to him while he was her captive? Enchanted him somehow? But then why would it have taken so long to take effect? What is happening to you, Mytho? I want to help you, but how can I when I don't even know what's wrong!?'

"Are you angry," the prince asked mockingly, "Even though I've finally regained my emotions…" "Your heart is still not complete," Fakir countered harshly. "That's right," Mytho mused darkly, "I have to hurry and get the whole thing back…" The young knight's eyes narrowed as a pained gasp slipped out of his friend before he continued haltingly, "And then, maybe I'll try offering it to a raven…" That settled it as far as the dark-haired knight was concerned. Whoever was speaking through the shorter teen right now _wasn't_ the prince! "You," the green-eyed young man demanded softly, "Who are you?" "I am… I am…," the white haired teen was visibly struggling as he tried to respond before he suddenly doubled over in pain clutching at his chest, "I am…" The taller teen reached out in concern as he moved to his friend's side, "What's wrong, Mytho?!" "Help me, Fakir," the tormented young man suddenly pleaded desperately, "My heart is…" Another pained gasp burst from the shorter teen as he bent over even more and Fakir realized his friend had broken out in a cold sweat. "Mytho," he cried out in concern. 'Damn it,' the worried young man fretted, 'I don't know what to do!' Mytho suddenly let out an agonized scream as he threw his head back in pain before he suddenly pitched forward in a sudden faint. The young knight barely managed to catch his friend as he uttered another concerned cry, "Mytho! Hang in there! Mytho…"

There was no denying it now. He was afraid. Afraid of what was happening to his prince, and afraid that there was nothing he could do to help. Mytho suddenly started to laugh softly, and the frightened young knight felt another chill shoot through him as he realized the other personality had emerged once more. The darker prince suddenly threw his arms out to the side, knocking the taller teen's arms away in the process, and stepped back before falling into a threatening ballet pose that resembled a bird spreading its wings. "Who am I, you ask," the white-haired teen asked mockingly with a dark smirk before he continued menacingly, "I'll tell you right now, Fakir. Just _you_." He then started to retreat slowly towards the window as he held his pose, "Watch closely…" The dark-haired young man's eyes widened as he got a sudden inkling of what this other prince had planned before he lunged forward desperately, "You… Mytho!" However, he hadn't reacted in time. The half-clad teen leapt backward as the window suddenly swung open behind him and flew out into the open air behind him with a mocking smirk on his face.

The horrified young knight failed to reach his prince in time and could only look on as the other young man started to fall. 'No,' the green-eyed teen's eyes widened, 'He'll die if he falls from this height!' "Mytho," he cried out in horror as he reach out for his friend helplessly. There was nothing he could do. Only one person could save Mytho now, and Fakir prayed desperately that Ahiru was nearby. The universe had mercy on the poor knight for once for she wasn't just nearby, but had seen everything. The dark-haired teen had never been so relieved to see the red-head's alter-ego as he was when she leapt across the dorm commons from the top of the girl's dorm and caught the prince's hand before spinning him into a graceful dance. The two slowly drifted to the ground as they spun around each other in a swirl of white feathers and the green-eyed young man let out a relieved sigh. Yet he did not relax. There was some power infecting his friend; changing him. He didn't know what it was, or how he could fight it. But his prince's last free act had been to beg for aid. What sort of knight would he be if he didn't at least _try_?

 **A/N:** That was far more fun than it had any right to be to write. The dream at the start of the chapter should be taken as a sign that Fakir's heart, at least, has already grown pretty fond of Ahiru…but his head is still lagging behind. It's going to take a while for it to catch up considering his heart takes far less time to work out what it wants. The bit about how often, and long, Fakir practices and the toll it takes on him is my head-canon. The bit after was a shameless excuse for friendship building between him and Ahiru. Because they need more moments of friendship fluff. _Everybody_ needs more fluff! Sometimes I think fluff is one of the pillars of this site… I find enough of it in various sections… But that is okay because I enjoy the fluff. I'm not the best at writing it, but I enjoy it nonetheless. And can I just say how much I enjoy that random lie Fakir came up with to distract Mytho in the beginning of the episode? It's easily one of the funnier moments in the entire show. I'm not sure which part is funniest, though: how ridiculous that lie is or the fact that Mytho thought Fakir was being serious. I take this as an early hint of Fakir's latent talent as a writer. That guy has one hell of a creative imagination and that is something a good writer needs. Where else do you think we get our ideas? IMAGINATION! Or, in my case, dreams. Most of the stories I have started or are in concept development phase started as dreams I remembered when I woke up in the morning. But then dreams are shaped by the imagination and subconscious recollection of events from throughout the day. Imagination is a component of dreams, so it counts. Also, that bit about cat years is accurate. I referenced one of my books out of curiosity and decided to include it. Because I can see Fakir stumbling across a book on cats, reading it out of curiosity, and remembering it years later. Memory is weird like that. Anyways, that's it for now. See you all next chapter!


	16. Manipulation and Depression

**A/N:** Love season 2! Love it! Oh, I am going to have so much fun with writing everything out! Not just this chapter, I am looking forward to the entire bloody _season_! The darkening tone continues as events progress towards their final climax, and the darker things get the giddier _I_ become! I have come to the conclusion that, at some point in the future, I am going to write out my own version of the events from 'The Prince and The Raven'. I have already been dropping references to my version of events in this fic. They are never going to be elaborated on here, so I really need to write it at some point if those instances are ever going to make sense to you guys. That will probably be my next project…providing my attention holds. Damned short attention span… This chapter is going to be fun! I will elaborate further in my end notes because I don't want to spoil things… So much _anticipation_ … Can't wait any longer! Must write!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Princess Tutu. This is probably a good thing. I like dark fantasy a _little_ more than is probably healthy…also tragedy… There would have been blood… Lot's more blood… Eh heh…

Chapter 16: Manipulation and Depression

Once they reached the ground, Ahiru swiftly led the prince over to the door of the boys' dorm where she was met by a grim-faced Fakir. The young knight didn't say anything to her other than a gruff thank you before he led his friend back up to their room. Later on, he realized he probably should have taken the time to talk to her about what had happened, but the young man was still far too used to acting alone. He had yet to become fully accustomed to working as part of a team. Besides, he was so worried about what was happening to Mytho that he wasn't really thinking about much else at the time. For her part, the red-head had not pressed him for details and had accepted his thanks before making herself scarce. The dark-haired teen did his best to ignore the looks the other students clustered about the lawn and in the dorm common area shot at him. He already knew his reputation wasn't the best and he had a feeling that a whole new host of unflattering rumors were being created.

Fakir didn't really care about what they thought. He had a prince who seemed to be developing a split-personality to worry about. The other teen had been almost entirely unresponsive the entire way back to their room which was not helping the young knight's anxiety any. It was as though he was in some sort of trance. "What is _wrong_ with you, Mytho," the taller young man pleaded softly as he helped his friend over to his bed. The golden-eyed teen did not respond. He didn't even look at his knight but continued to stare blankly off into space. Fakir took the time to get his friend settled in bed and watched uneasily as the shorter teen fell into a deep sleep the second his head hit the pillow. Then, once he realized the other young man was not likely to awaken any time soon, bolted out of the dorms and headed straight for the library. He had research to do.

Whenever there was something Fakir didn't understand or was uncertain about his immediate reaction was to go for a book. Ever since his friend's heart had started returning, the young man had spent _hours_ in the library in a desperate attempt to find hints on how to deal with everything that was going on. Every hour he wasn't practicing or keeping an eye on Mytho he had been in the library researching. The campus library had a surprisingly extensive collection on all sorts of topics and – while his research hadn't _solved_ any of his problems – the books he'd read had given him a firmer foundation to build his plans on.

Now the prince was clearly suffering under the influence of some external power beyond the young knight's understanding and, as he had in the past, he immediately turned to the library for the answers he sought. He didn't know where else he could turn. 'If Edel were still around,' he admitted regretfully as he walked into the building, 'I'd try seeking her out and asking her for advice, but that isn't an option now.' He wished desperately it were otherwise. If only he hadn't taken so long to appreciate how helpful her words had been. If only she hadn't sacrificed herself to save him…but dwelling on such things would not help him any. Fakir spent the rest of the day holed up in the back rooms reading every book that looked as though it might have a clue, but made little head way before the library closed and he had to return to the dorms. Mytho hadn't stirred an inch the entire time the dark-haired young man had been absent which did nothing to ease his concerns. Somehow he got the feeling he wasn't going to be getting much sleep that night…

His suspicions had been spot on. Fakir had been far too agitated to sleep and sat up the entire night watching and worrying over Mytho. 'Just what,' he wondered uneasily, 'the hell happened yesterday? Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about all of this…?' The white-haired young man was still in that weird trance state when he awoke, and moved mechanically around the room getting ready for classes. The young knight stuck close to his friend's side the entire time trying desperately to puzzle out what was going _on_ with the other teen. Sadly, he didn't have enough clues to work off of. All he knew was that there was some other personality dwelling inside his friend; one that acted a bit like Kraehe. The dark-haired teen was almost positive the Raven Princess had done _something_ to his friend to make him change so suddenly. He just didn't know what. However, matters were about to take a turn for the worse.

Shortly after the two young men arrived on campus Mr. Katze approached them. "Mr. Mytho," the feline instructor addressed them both sternly, "Mr. Fakir, would you both come with me to my office for a moment?" Fakir tensed slightly as a bad feeling stuck him, but nodded in agreement, "Very well." "Okay," Mytho agreed in an oddly dull tone. The young knight glanced sharply over at his friend for that had been the first thing he'd said since he'd jumped out of the window yesterday. 'I'm not sure if this is a good sign or a bad one,' the malachite-eyed young man admitted uneasily as he followed the anthropomorphic feline into the main ballet building, 'He certainly isn't fully back to normal, but at least he's responding to things now. Still, I'm not feeling any better about what's going on. Could he still be being affected by…whatever that was? God, I wish I knew what was wrong… This is driving me insane…'

It didn't take the trio long to reach the feline instructor's office, and the young knight's eyes narrowed as he beheld the tattered remnants of the cat-man's treasured shoes resting on his desk. Mytho hadn't been lying; he really _had_ destroyed Master Nyadzinsky's memento. Mr. Katze calmly took a seat in front of his desk, pulled out a needle and thread, and painstakingly started stitching the shoes back together as the two young men stood behind him waiting for him to speak. The anthropomorphic feline kept them waiting a good 5-minutes before he finally spoke to them. Fakir wasn't an idiot; he knew an intimidation tactic when he saw one, and almost nodded in approval. "I had several students stop by yesterday claiming to have witnessed an…altercation between the two of you. One that ended with Mr. Mytho falling from the window of your dorm room. It seems that terrible incidents keep happening one after another," the feline instructor observed as he continued working on repairing his cherished memento, "Just what happened yesterday?"

The dark-haired teen glanced over slightly as he noticed his friend flinch and close his eyes tightly as if he were in pain. His bad feeling from earlier grew as he realized this was similar to how he had acted when he was warring with his other personality. That sense of foreboding skyrocketed, however, when the white-haired teen's eyes opened and revealed they had taken on a reddish tinge as he spoke, "That was because of my carelessness." A soft gasp escaped the taller teen as the blatant lie emerged from the other teen's lips before he softly murmured, "What?" "It was an accident," Mytho continued spinning his lie calmly. Fakir knew for a fact that, not only was the prince a terrible liar, but he absolutely hated lying. The young knight had spent close to an hour arguing with his friend to get him to agree to going along with the _partial_ lie to Mr. Katze about the reason for his extended absence. _That_ was how much of a problem the other young man had with that sort of thing. Yet here he was lying flawlessly without a twinge of remorse! Whoever was speaking now _definitely_ wasn't the young man he knew!

"An accident," Mr. Katze questioned passively. "Yes," the red-eyed prince responded evenly, "I'm sorry to have worried you." The fact that his best friend was _continuing_ to lie so blatantly was more than Fakir could bear. "Why would you tell a lie like that," he demanded lowly. The feline instructor's ears twitched and his eyes opened fully as he inquired, "What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Fakir?" A startled noise slipped out of the young knight as he turned to look at his teacher. 'That probably wasn't the best choice of words,' he realized with an internal wince. "I do have to say the incident seemed rather unnatural for it to have been an accident," the cat-man admitted with a stern look. "Could you be thinking that Fakir _pushed_ me out, Mr. Katze," Mytho asked in an innocent tone that set the hairs on the back of the dark-haired teen's neck standing on end.

Fakir was starting to realize that the prince was subtly setting him up for a fall, and there was nothing he could say at this point to stop it. Anything he said would be taken as an attempt to deny responsibility for his actions. His suspicions were confirmed when Mr. Katze pointed out with an intent look, "Arguments do happen from time to time. Albrecht and Hilarion both wanted to marry Giselle. It's because they wanted to marry her that such terrible things…" A soft sigh of exasperation slipped out of the taller teen as he realized the marriage-obsessed feline was rapidly moving off topic. Fakir wasn't surprised the man had tried to use ballet as a metaphor for their imagined argument, but _Giselle_ of all things? He wasn't in love with _anyone_ and Mytho had only gotten his feeling of love back last week!

"Marr-," the anthropomorphic feline started to declare before he caught himself and stared blankly at his top male students for a few moments before regaining his composure. Mr. Katze let out a soft sigh as he sat back in his chair and admitted, "I suppose you're still too young for that particular problem. That's fine, but we can't let you two continue to share a room." As far as consequences went, this was a fairly mild one. Perhaps the feline still doubted that Fakir would try to kill his friend even in a fit of temper. The young knight could hope, but the fact remained that he and Mytho were going to end up separated. The prince started to speak, "Then I'll…" However, the dark-haired teen cut his friend off firmly having made up his mind as he turned away, "I'll leave." He had an inkling that was what the other teen wanted to happen anyways. There wasn't anything he could do to fight it, though. Not without making himself look even guiltier than he probably already did. He was deeply concerned by how this entire situation had played out, however, and started walking for the door with the intent of returning to the library for more research.

Mr. Katze didn't stop him which made it clear enough that the instructor felt the matter was sufficiently resolved. It wasn't though. Far from it, and Fakir _knew_ it. The green-eyed young man opened the door and had to suppress an eye-twitch as a large group of girls fell in through the door and landed in a heap. 'Fan-girls,' he grumbled to himself as he stepped passed their prone forms, 'They will _always_ be the most annoying creatures in existence.' In spite of his anxiety over everything that had taken place, the young man could not suppress the small smirk of amusement as the sounds of the anthropomorphic feline threatening the collective nuisances with marriage reached his ears. It was still horrendously inappropriate, but the shrieks of denial that reached the retreating teen made him willing to overlook that for once.

Fakir relaxed slightly as he reached the sanctuary of the library; the entire way over he'd been receiving angry or fearful looks from the other students, and it was rapidly getting on his nerves. How quick they were to judge him when they knew _nothing_ … At least here he could find some solace. None of the other students who regularly frequented the building were the sort to believe rumors so easily. The most _they_ did was shoot inquisitive glances his way before returning to their books. Momentarily content with the knowledge that he wouldn't be interrupted, the young knight started collecting his next batch of research material as he considered the sequence of events leading up to his current dilemma. His inkling from earlier was growing into a full blown suspicion the more he thought about it. What he didn't know was _why_ Mytho wanted him to leave… It was bothering him immensely. 'I just don't know enough,' he sighed as he pulled down the last book, 'About what brought on this change. The red tint to his eyes may be a clue. It wasn't _quite_ the same shade as a raven's, but still…it could be an indicator of their involvement in the rise of this other Mytho…' He carried the books he's selected over to a reading desk near the far corner of the first floor. There was only one other student in the area, so he had little fear of being interrupted in his reading. His research materials gathered, he settled down to read.

As usual, the young man lost all track of time as he read. Regrettably, the books he'd selected were not proving to be all that helpful yet he persevered. Regardless of the changes now affecting him, Mytho had still asked for his knight's aid and that was exactly what he intended to provide! Fakir read on until he heard a footsteps drawing near to where he was sitting and looked up with a soft, "Hm?" It was Ahiru. He probably should have expected her to seek him out sooner or later. It had occurred to him that she had questions about the prince's fall yesterday. "Hey, hey, Fakir," she called as she drew near before she started rambling loudly while flailing about, "Just now Mytho ran into Pique, and it was kinda weird, and not like the usual Mytho at all, and what happened yesterday was weird too… And I wondered if maybe Nyadzinsky's shoes might have been Mytho's fault too, but that may just be me thinking too much, but…but it really was weird, so Mytho is Mytho and Mytho isn't Mytho but…"

The young knight stared at her with wide eyes as the words just kept pouring out of her. There was no way he could even get a word in she was talking so fast. Still, from what he was able to discern she had worked out quite a bit on her own. Eventually, her rambling irritated the other student in his corner of the library and the other young man stood up abruptly before scolding her, "Could you please be a little quieter?" Ahiru started before she apologized sheepishly, "Ah, I'm sorry." "Calm down," Fakir told her seriously and she turned to look back at him with a worried look on her face. "Did something happen to Mytho," she asked. The dark-haired teen looked away as he admitted quietly, "That's what I want to know." "Mytho jumped out the window himself yesterday, didn't he," the red head inquired before she continued, "But in front of Mr. Katze, he made it sound like he was covering for you… and that made it look like you were the bad guy." The young knight shut the book he had been reading as he admitted to himself that she had summed up his current predicament quite succinctly. It seemed he didn't give her perceptiveness anywhere near enough credit.

"Ah, and just now," Ahiru told him as he set the book on top of the pile of the others he had finished with, "I was following Mytho, but then he suddenly disappeared! After that…" The girl trailed off and Fakir turned to look at her curiously as he waited for her to continue. The expression on the red-head's face was full of trepidation as she finished, "There was a raven's feather…" The young knight's eyes widened as he replied in shock, "What?!" That settled it! Somehow Mytho was being influenced by the Raven's power and he knew exactly who to blame for it. His eyes narrowed as he shot to his feet with a low growl of fury that sent the blue-eyed girl backing away from him warily. "Fakir," she quavered warily, "What's wrong?" "I'm going to _kill_ that raven," he stated in a deceptively calm tone as he walked briskly passed her. "Eh," the diminutive ballerina yelped before trailing after him, "Fakir, wait! What's going on!?" The infuriated young man ignored her as he headed straight for the library doors and stormed out of them. Fakir's intent was originally to retrieve his sword from Charon's, and go hunting for Kraehe. However, as he crossed the paved area around the fountain in the middle of campus he caught sight of her alter-ego out of the corner of his eye, and froze. He turned to stare in disbelief at how casual she looked.

She was just standing there facing the main ballet building as though nothing were wrong. The dark-haired teen didn't even react when Ahiru ran into his back and barely registered her questioning why he suddenly stopped. The young knight turned to face her fully as he struggled to keep his temper in check. Attacking Kraehe in her human guise when he was already under suspicion was a bad idea and he knew it, but… Damn it all, she had done _something_ to his best friend and he wanted answers! The raven-haired girl turned slowly to look at them with an amused smile on her face. "Rue-chan," Ahiru blurted in surprise. Fakir shot the red-head an incredulous look at the familiarity she used; the other girl had tried to _kill_ her for crying out loud! How the hell could the diminutive ballerina possibly see the garnet-eyed young woman as anything other than an enemy?! The young knight turned his attention back to the disguised raven and scowled darkly as his already straining self-control faltered. He started to move briskly towards his adversary with his fists clenched tightly by his side. "Fakir," his blue-eyed female friend called after him worriedly, but he ignored her. He was beyond furious, but he still managed to muster up just enough restraint to limit himself to merely grabbing the Raven Princess' alter-ego instead of striking her.

The dark-haired young man barely registered Ahiru's repeated cry of his name as he shook Kraehe and demanded, "Was it you?! What did you do to Mytho?!" "What are you talking about," the raven's human guise countered indignantly as he glared at her. He didn't even notice his red-haired friend had wrapped her arms around his middle and was trying to pull him away while pleading with him to stop. "Don't play dumb with me," Fakir snapped angrily. "Let go of me," the raven-haired ballerina protested, "That hurts!" 'Good,' the infuriated young man snarled internally, 'After everything you've done you deserve no less!' He was so angry that he had completely forgotten that there were other students in the area who were completely unaware of the deeper conflict playing out before them. That all they would see was an angry young man assaulting their innocent classmate while yet another struggled futilely to get him to back off. All he was aware of was the Raven Princess who had somehow infected his friend was deliberately playing ignorant and that sent his temper spiraling out of control. "Stop this charade," Fakir demanded angrily before his voice dropped to a low hiss, "Kraehe…"

That was all it took for the disguised raven to drop her act and shoot him a cold, self-satisfied smirk. Yet before he could demand answers, Fakir registered a hand grasping his upper arm and turned to look to see who it was. 'Mytho,' he realized in surprise that soon faded back into fury as he beheld the red tint still shading the other teen's golden eyes. "Stop it," Mytho ordered sternly. For a split second, the young knight was torn. His instinctive reaction was to obey his prince's orders, but this _wasn't_ the same person! It was the other personality infesting his friend's body and that realization was enough to send his anger into a sharp spike. The enraged young man threw his arm out roughly as he demanded, "Let go of me!" All he'd intended was to break the other teen's grip yet, in the full grasp of his temper, he'd misjudged just how close the corrupted teen was standing. A shock ran through him as he felt his hand connect with the white-haired young man's face and he turned to look back in disbelief.

'Oh no,' he winced internally as a flicker of remorse crossed his face, ' _Please_ tell me I didn't just strike my best friend again…' Fakir's remaining hand fell slack as he beheld Mytho straightening back up with one hand covering his cheek. The dark-haired young man barely even noticed when Kraehe ripped her arm free from his weakened grasp for his fury had given way to dismay. The young knight tensed slightly at the sight of the smug smile the corrupted prince short towards him before he straightened fully and addressed the watching crowd, "Don't worry about me. I'm fine." With his temper no longer blinding him, the green-eyed teen suddenly realized he'd had an audience this entire time and, as their words reached his ears, he realized that both the Raven Princess and the white-haired teen had effectively set him up once more…and he'd fallen for it.

Fakir swallowed hard as everything suddenly became clear. Mytho jumping out of the window yesterday, his words in Mr. Katze's office earlier, and now this…all of it was a set up to get him out of the way. Kraehe and this other persona his friend had developed had worked together to take the already negative reputation he had with the students and paired it with a series of staged events to make the dark-haired young man look like an absolute monster. 'They arranged all of this,' he realized as he looked around at the openly scornful and angry looks being directed his way from the other students, 'And I just played along with what they wanted without even realizing it. Damn it! How could I be such an _idiot_?!' "Fakir," Ahiru whimpered quietly from behind him and the young knight winced at the fear in her voice. "You should go," he murmured, "The less people think you have to do with me the better off you'll be at this point." "But," the red-head started to protest before he cut her off. "I'll be fine," he informed her quietly before a bitter smile crossed his face as he admitted to himself, 'It's not as though I didn't bring this upon myself.' The diminutive ballerina nodded hesitantly before she took a few steps back, and then turned and darted off. Hopefully, she would escape any backlash from these events. As for himself, Fakir knew he wouldn't be able to escape the consequences of his actions. Even though he had effectively been manipulated every step of the way, the final choice for how he'd reacted still rested with him alone.

Fakir eventually escaped the crowd, but it didn't take long for Mr. Katze to seek him out with a grim look on his face. "The dean wishes to speak with you," the anthropomorphic feline informed him with a disapproving frown, "Follow me." "Yes sir," the young knight sighed in resignation. Somehow he wasn't surprised and could make a pretty good guess of how this would end. The Dean of Ballet was an anthropomorphic crane dressed in a remarkably flamboyant outfit. He _should_ have looked absolutely ridiculous in the red and purple brocade vest, the frilled collar he wore around his long, skinny neck, and the pince nez's perched on top of his bill. Yet the avian man managed to look intimidating as he peered down at the dark-haired teen through his lenses. "Ah, Mr. Fakir," the Dean observed the second Mr. Katze left the room, "Thank you for attending so promptly to my summons." The green eyed young man bowed slightly in response but remained silent.

"Mr. Katze tells me you are one of his top students and have been practically since the day you enrolled," the avian continued as he paced over to the window overlooking the campus green behind his desk and gazed out of it, "He's quite proud of your skill and dedication to our art." Fakir knew for a fact the dean hadn't called him up to praise him and waited patiently for the other shoe to drop. He didn't have long to wait. "That is why your recent behavior is so troubling," the crane man stated as he turned to face the silent teen, "You are an exceptional student, Mr. Fakir, yet in the past month alone Mr. Katze has reported frequent absences, violent outbursts against your fellow students, and even deliberately cutting classes. I do not tolerate this sort of behavior, Mr. Fakir. It reflects badly not only on the School of Ballet, but the Academy as a whole. I should expel you. However, Mr. Katze has argued fervently for leniency. He insists you are merely going through a rough patch and just need time to get over it. Apparently you collapsed recently and are still not fully recovered even after a week's rest?" "Yes," the young knight replied shortly.

"Then perhaps a week's suspension will be sufficient for you to get whatever issues are bothering you resolved," the dean smiled coldly as he took a seat behind his desk, "And finish recovering. I don't want to hear word of you setting foot on campus grounds until then, am I clear?" "Crystal," Fakir replied just as coldly. "Your suspension takes effect tomorrow," the avian informed the young man as he turned his attention to the papers on his desk, "You are free to attend the rest of your classes for the day and fetch your things from the dorms. You may leave." The green-eyed knight didn't reply beyond a curt nod before he spun on his heel and left the room. He had no intention of wasting his time on classes since he would be gone for a week anyways. Instead, he planned on returning to the library and doing some more research. He still didn't know _what_ Kraehe had done to his friend after all. Only that she had done _something_.

Fakir spent the rest of the day holed up in the library's back rooms going through the more obscure texts in the collection. Ahiru hadn't bothered to stop by, but he _had_ effectively told her to keep her distance. She was actually listening to him for once. 'Back then, if I had treated her courteously instead of pushing her away,' he mused with a self-deprecating smile as he flipped through yet another book, 'Would she have listened to me if I asked her to stay away from Mytho? Probably not…' If there was one thing he could not doubt it was her devotion to helping the prince. It was something he'd come to admire. In fact it was one of many of the traits that had once irritated him which now struck him as being admirable. It was a bit of a shock, but he was coming to terms with the change surprisingly fast. The red-head was easy to like.

The young knight had perched near the top of a ladder as he continued to read. He wasn't worried about falling as his sense of balance was nothing short of phenomenal. Besides, it was more efficient this way. He could put each book he finished back and pull out a new one without much of a break between ending one and starting another. The young man had managed to go through far more books than he had the day before. He'd been sitting on the floor that time and had to take the time to stand up, climb the ladder, put the book back, grab a new one, climb back down, and take a seat before he could start reading again. Considering his current circumstances, time saving measures were a good thing. However, all of this was far from his mind as he delved deeply into the books he was reading. He still hadn't had much luck finding the answers he sought, but he wasn't giving up.

The light in the room eventually started growing dim and the young knight realized the time he had remaining was growing short. He still didn't stop reading and was resolved that he wouldn't until the librarian came to inform him the building was closing down for the night. Fakir would have continued to read were it not for a sudden giggle coming from the window overhead that caught his attention. He looked up sharply and his eyes narrowed as he beheld the Raven Princess looking down at him in amusement, "Kraehe!?" "You're certainly working hard," Kraehe teased him lightly, "Are you researching the prince? Or maybe about ravens?" The dark-haired teen gritted his teeth as he glared up at her. He was still smarting a bit at how thoroughly she had tricked him earlier and her taunting _wasn't helping_. "Shall I tell you what's to become of the prince," the black-clad ballerina offered with a mocking smile and the young man's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

It wasn't like her to offer up information freely. There was a trap here. He was sure of it. "So you did do something after all," Fakir stated in a deceptively calm tone as he continued to glare up at the raven. She giggled slightly before explaining, "You see, I bathed the heart shard of love that Princess Tutu returned in the blood of the Monster Raven." Malachite green eyes widened in horror as their owner exclaimed, "In the Raven's blood?! You…" "My father," Kraehe continued, "Gave some of his own blood for his daughter's sake." 'Kraehe is,' the young knight realized internally before finishing aloud, "The daughter of the Monster Raven?" He _had_ been wondering how she was connected to the Raven since it had become clear that she _wasn't_ it's reincarnation as he had first suspected, but this… He had not been expecting to learn she was the Raven's _daughter_ of all things.

"The prince is going to change," Kraehe's eyes were closed as she continued with a smug smile on her face, "He'll love only me, and find a young and beautiful heart for my father and offer it to him as a sacrifice. When the blood has seeped through his whole heart, he's never return to his former state again." As horrifying as all of this was to hear, Fakir feared how Ahiru would react if she were to learn all of this. She'd be absolutely devastated! "Did you tell her about this," the young knight inquired uneasily. A cruel smile crossed the Raven Princess's face as she spoke, "Maybe I should. If I did that, I could make Tutu suffer, couldn't I? Or perhaps it would be better to tell the prince that she's really a human girl who's a horrible dancer." The dark-haired young man winced as he realized he had most likely given the Raven's daughter ideas and prayed she wouldn't act on them. Fortunately, for the moment, she seemed more interested in taunting _him_. "It was foolish of you to break the prince's sword, wasn't it," the black-clad ballerina mused with a mocking smile, "Without that, you can't even take his heart out again, can you?"

A frustrated grunt slipped out as he realized she was right. If he _hadn't_ broken the sword it was possible the prince could have used it to extract his heart temporarily while his knight and the red-haired ballerina tried to find a way to purge the raven's blood. Yet the other consequence was that Ahiru might not have survived the events in the underground lake if he hadn't done so. Either way he looked at it there was no _good_ solution. "In the end," Kraehe sneered down at him as she prepared to leave, "You're just a human, and maybe all you _can_ do is look things up in books." She then leapt backwards and vanished in her characteristic black whirlwind with a final mocking laugh. Fakir stared out where she had been for a few moments before he looked away abruptly and cursed, "Damn it!" He stared down at the book he'd been reading and grimaced as he realized he'd wasted his entire day. The Raven Princess' revelation completely negated the value of his actions and he was left with a new dilemma to resolve. The problem was he didn't have enough time left before the library closed and his suspension took effect. 'I'll have to hope I can find something useful outside the school,' he admitted as he closed the book and turned to place it back on the shelf.

Shortly afterwards the librarian knocked on the door and called out, "Mr. Fakir. The library is closing. It's time to leave, dear." She always called him 'dear' for some reason. "All right," Fakir replied quietly before climbing down from his perch on the ladder and heading for the door. The librarian had left by the time he opened it and stepped out, but he was unbothered by this. The woman had a bad habit of mothering him when she caught him alone. It was irritating. The dark-haired teen made his way back to the dorms lost in thought as it occurred to him that this would be his last night in the room he'd shared with his best friend for the past three years. It bothered him far more than he was expecting. Even more troubling was the fact that he finally understood the entire reason for why Kraehe and the corrupted Mytho had enacted their scheme to get him away from his prince.

There was no way the Raven princess was entirely unaware of how much stronger Fakir's friendship with the golden-eyed young man had become. The shorter teen drew strength from the presence of those he cared for – from his friends – and could use that to fight back against the corruption of the raven's blood. Yet if the young man was isolated his ability to resist would be weakened. The young knight's constant presence was an obstacle, and one that Kraehe had effectively dealt with. Yet Fakir still had hope in that she had neglected to consider the potential of one person: Ahiru. She wouldn't abandon the prince no matter what. Furthermore, Mytho – by his own admission –considered her a friend. True, she wouldn't be a constant presence in the shorter teen's life, but he wouldn't be completely alone. Perhaps it would be enough to buy him time to find a solution. Malachite green eyes gazed up at her room as their owner paused momentarily outside the girls' dorm. "It seems his future is in your hands again," the dark-haired young man murmured softly, "I'm counting on you…Ahiru…"

Mytho wasn't in the room when the young knight got back which was troubling after Kraehe's words about him seeking out young, beautiful hearts to offer up to the Monster Raven. However, Fakir trusted Ahiru to keep an eye on matters in his stead. She may not know everything he did, but she was perceptive enough to work out enough of it to act on her own. She'd stop the possessed teen from doing anything terrible. That's why, instead of rushing off to seek his absent friend, he busied himself by pulling out his suitcase and packing it with his spare clothes. He hadn't really brought much with him when he'd moved into the dorms when he was twelve. Then he slipped off his shoes before settling back on his bed and waited. The dark-haired young man wanted to try one last time to reach his friend before he left. It was well past midnight when the other teen returned and the green-eyed knight could feel his heart drop into his stomach as the moonlight reflected off of the red tint in the other young man's eyes. "Mytho," he called softly.

"Oh, it's you," the white-haired teen noted indifferently, "So they didn't cast you out immediately after all. Such a pity." "Silence, raven," Fakir hissed as he stood abruptly before his expression softened, "Mytho, I don't know if you can hear me but I know what's happening to you. I don't know how to fix it yet, but I _promise_ I will find some way to return you to normal. I won't let you fall." The Raven Prince scoffed, "As if a failure of a knight such as _you_ could manage that." The young knight flinched slightly before scowling fiercely at the false prince, "I am _not_ a failure." "Is that so," the false Mytho smirked as he walked over to sit on his bed, "Tell me then, when was the last time one of your actions _hasn't_ backfired horribly?" The taller teen thought back and went rigid as he realized that he really couldn't come up with anything. They may not have been immediate failures, but every one of his actions that he could recall _had_ had negative repercussions at some point. "I…," Fakir breathed faintly as he looked away, "I can't…" 'I never wanted to fail you,' the young man cried out desperately in his head, 'I _tried!_ Always I tried my hardest to keep you safe! Forgive me, Mytho…'

"That's right," the false Mytho mocked, "You're nothing more than a worthless failure. So what makes you think you'll succeed now?" "Even," the young knight started shakily before swallowing hard and continuing in a hoarse tone, "Even if my efforts come to nothing in the end I will _never_ stop _trying_ to make things right. Never!" "Then you are a fool," the Raven Prince told him scathingly. The dark-haired teen gritted his teeth as he growled, "Shut up…" The white-haired teen laughed mockingly before a sharp gasp slipped out of him as he clenched his eyes shut. When they opened again the red tint was gone and the other teen was breathing heavily before he gasped out, "Fakir…listen to me…" Fakir stiffened and looked back over sharply at the sudden change in tone. "Mytho," he breathed in amazement. The prince nodded with weak smile before continuing desperately, "It's me….the real me… Fakir, you can't listen to what the other me says!" "What," the young knight murmured in confusion. "I know he's in here," Mytho gasped out rapidly as he clutched at his chest, "It's not me who's doing all of this, Fakir! It's not me who's doing and saying all of these terrible things! It's not me!"

"I know that," the dark-haired teen told his friend gently as he knelt in front of him, "It's the raven's blood acting on your heart." "What," the white-haired teen gasped as his eyes widened. The malachite-eyed teen sighed and explained, "Kraehe told me earlier this evening that she'd soaked your feeling of love in raven's blood sometime before Tutu and I reached you. All her resistance…that stand-off at the lake…was likely a set-up to make us overlook the possibility that she may have done _something_ while she had you and your heart shard in her possession. I never suspected anything…and neither did Tutu. She tricked us…and now you… I'm so sorry, Mytho… If only I'd known sooner… Forgive me…" "So that's why," the golden-eyed teen whispered before he gasped sharply.

"Mytho," Fakir gripped his friend's knee tightly in concern, "What is it?" "Can't hold on," the prince gasped as his eyes started to flicker, "Get back!" The young knight obeyed with a mournful expression and could only watch helplessly as his friend succumbed to the raven's blood once more. 'At least he knows the reason why he's changed now,' the dejected young man tried to reassure himself as the red-tint returned to his friend's eyes, 'And that I don't blame him for the raven's words…even if it doesn't make them any less true…' The Raven Prince didn't bother paying any more attention to the young knight and stubbornly ignored the taller teen as he got ready for bed. Fakir sighed heavily before he walked over to the small table and took a seat on the chair. He'd already made up his mind that this would be another sleepless night for him.

That night passed slowly, but morning did eventually come as it always did. Perhaps the young knight should find something inspiring in that, but the plight his friend faced – and the guilt he felt for failing to spot the traps Kraehe had set – weighed on him far too heavily. Fakir left the dorms with his belongings in tow well before everyone else had awakened and made his way across town to Charon's. He knew the smith would probably be willing to let him move back in to his old room. At least he _hoped_ the man would. It was starting to occur to the teen that he was not very good at being optimistic. He was just naturally inclined towards pessimism. The sun was well above the horizon by the time he reached his old home and hesitated momentarily before knocking on the door. He didn't have long to wait before it opened and his adoptive father's surprised gaze met his own melancholy one. "Fakir," the sandy haired man exclaimed, "What are you doing here? Don't you have classes today?" The young knight sighed as a bitter smile flickered across his face, "Not for a week…" Charon frowned in concern as his son's depression registered, "Come in and tell me about it." "All right," Fakir replied softly before he followed the man who raised him into the house. The smith gestured for his son to take a seat at the dining room table and promptly took the seat immediately across from him. "Now what happened to upset you so," he asked gently.

The young man sighed before he slowly recounted everything that had happened the past few days as he stared down at the table. Charon listened intently without judging yet his concern grew as he realized just how _badly_ his son was hurting from these events. "It wasn't your fault," the smith told Fakir after he finished his explanation. "So I keep trying to tell myself," the young knight admitted before a bitter laugh slipped out of him, "Doesn't mean I believe it…" "You had no way of knowing that Kraehe had done anything to that shard before it was returned," the older man pointed out. "I know that," the dark-haired teen replied without raising his gaze, "I should have realized that she'd have a back-up plan, though. I should have talked to Ahiru instead of hiding in the library the day before yesterday. I should have realized Kraehe and that false Mytho were baiting me. I played right into their hands…and now Mytho is all alone with that _raven_." "Kraehe or the one inside his heart," Charon sought to clarify. "Both," the green-eyed young man admitted quietly, "To make things worse, Ahiru only knows some of this which is going to make matters so much _harder_ for her to deal with." "You never explained how this Ahiru girl is involved," the smith reminded his son. "Ah, sorry," the young knight coughed in embarrassment before he explained, "Ahiru is Tutu's real identity. She's also my friend."

Fakir was cut off from explaining further by a sudden crash from upstairs. "What was that," he demanded as he finally looked up. "Uzura," Charon sighed resignedly as he stood up, "Come. I'll introduce you." The young man had no idea what his adoptive father was even talking about, but followed along. He was curious. "Uzura," the smith called as he reached the foot of the stairs, "Come down here." "Okay-zura," a little girl's voice replied brightly before its owner bounced down the stairs and looked up at the young knight with wide blue eyes., "Who are you-zura?" "Fakir, this is Uzura," the sandy haired man gestured to the small green-haired toddler with a smile, "She's the result of that request you asked of me. Uzura, this is my son Fakir." The dark-haired young man's eyes widened in shock as he realized this was the puppet created from Edel's remains and, as he looked closer, he could see the resemblance. Her hair, eyes, and skin were all the same color as the late puppet woman's had been. Yet this new puppet's innocent eyes reflected none of the wisdom and mystery that her predecessor's had. Likely she remembered nothing of the one who had come before. He'd always known that was a risk, and had accepted it. Even knowing all of that, seeing this little girl puppet looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes caused some of the pain lingering from Edel's death to fade away. "Hello Uzura," Fakir greeted as he knelt down to be closer to her level with a soft smile on his face, "It's nice to meet you." Uzura stared at him for a few moments longer before she smiled back at him, "Hi, Fakir-zura!"

 **A/N:** And I am ending it there. Fear not, there will be much more Uzura and Fakir interaction next chapter. He is going to learn just how annoying she can be… Don't get me wrong. I love Uzura as a character. She's great fun, but…she also clearly very frustrating for Fakir to deal with at times. I added a _little_ extra angst for our dear knight because there is no way Raven!Mytho wasn't going to snipe at him every opportunity he got. So in my starting author's notes I mentioned that this chapter was going to be fun to write. Here is why: first, the Fakir-angst levels start rising from here on out only to be tempered by the intervention of Ahiru and Uzura. Second, I get to outline in detail just how thoroughly Mytho and Rue set Fakir up. I do not doubt that his suspension was planned from the start…though they were probably hoping he'd be expelled. Third, Fakir's perception of Ahiru continues to change and I enjoy writing all of their interactions SO MUCH. And finally, Uzura's introduction; I could have waited until next chapter to introduce her, but after all the misery I put Fakir through I wanted to let the chapter end on a bit of a high note for him. Really though, I enjoyed writing out Fakir's realization of just how thoroughly he'd been screwed over far too much. The Dean of Ballet doesn't get a name because he is entirely a one-shot character. This is his only planned appearance and will likely never come in again. Therefore, there is no point in giving him a name. Heck, I may even pull a Terry Pratchett and just call him Dean flat out. I miss him…and Christopher Lee… T_T Why do the writers and actors I like keep dying…? Sad now. Well, I'll see you all next chapter. Till then my friends!


	17. Uzura

**A/N:** On and on the plot unfolds, where it leads nobody knows! That was a terrible couplet. I promised more Fakir and Uzura interaction at the end of the last chapter and so I shall deliver! Just need to pull up the fic that inspired me to write this in the first place to be sure I don't accidentally copy anything. No, I'm not going to _intentionally_ copy anything either. That's plagiarism; shame on you for even thinking like that. I'm doing my best to be original here! Well, as original as a fanfic based directly on the events of an anime can be that is. Admittedly, I've had it pulled up in my web browser the entire time I've been writing this because of my paranoia. Even as I edit the completed chapters I keep comparing what is in my story and what is in this other fic to make sure I'm not copying anything! I don't want to be a plagiarist… Also we will be having more Fakir and Ahiru interaction! Yayness! Shall we begin, then, gentle readers? Man, I need to stop reading so much Shakespeare… Ahem, here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing! NOTHING! You can't prove I own anything! SO THERE! I swear I am not crazy… Okay, so I am…a little… Everyone's insane to some degree or another! STOP MOCKING ME!

Chapter 17: Uzura

Uzura soon proved just how little she knew about the world. Seconds after her introduction to Fakir she looked up at Charon and asked, "What's a son-zura?" The smith chuckled as he replied, "It means he's family, Uzura." "Oooh," the puppet girl cooed before continuing, much to the young knight's amusement, "Am I a son, too-zura?" "You're a little girl," the older man explained tolerantly, "Little girls are called daughters." "So I'm your daughter-zura," the little girl puppet clarified. "Something like that, yes," the sandy haired man nodded. "Yay-zura," the green-haired child cheered happily. The dark-haired teen was curious as to why his adoptive father was treating the little puppet like a human girl, but didn't have a problem with playing along. Edel had wished she had been human, after all, and this new puppet already seemed far closer to that state than the older puppet had been. "So I guess that makes you my new little sister," Fakir mused as he stood back up.

That statement led to a whole new series of questions and explanations about what brothers and sisters were. However, that was soon cleared up and the green-eyed young man ultimately found himself with a happily giggling green-haired puppet girl attached to his pant leg. Yet there was something the young man wanted to clear up with the smith before much longer. "She knows she isn't human, right," the young knight whispered softly. "Yes," Charon replied just as quietly so the puppet wouldn't over-hear, "She knows she's made of wood, and that humans aren't. The fact that she's a living puppet hasn't entirely registered, though, and I feel it would be kinder to let her come to terms with that on her own. Please don't tell her." "I won't," the dark-haired teen agreed. Uzura's ignorance over about her true nature was harmless, after all. Besides, after having lost his own sense of childish innocence well before he should have, Fakir had come to cherish that trait in others. He'd never do anything to jeopardize it, so he had no problem with holding his tongue for as long as it took for the little puppet to work things out on her own.

While his introduction to, and early interactions with, Uzura were a welcome distraction, Fakir still had to resolve the issue on where he was going to live from now on. To his surprise, Charon was more than happy to have his son move back in. "I'd forgotten how lonely life as a bachelor could be," the smith admitted, "I may have been used to it before I took you in, but no longer. Besides, I could use the extra help in keeping an eye on Uzura." "Is she really that much trouble," the young knight frowned in concern as he looked over at the stairs. The little puppet had gotten bored when he's brought up his housing issue and toddled back up to the second floor. "No more than an ordinary toddler might be," the older man assured his son, "She can be a handful at times, but it's no worse than what I experienced when you were that age and your parents needed me to babysit." "Ah," the dark-haired young man flushed faintly in embarrassment at the reminder before inquiring, "So why do you need my help?" It turned out the real problem was the older man still had to mind his shop and it had the forge in the back. The forge which was often active these days as he had a lot of commissions still to finish up; Fakir knew how hot that thing could get when it was fully stoked. The core of the problem was this: Uzura was made of wood and very curious. She'd already had more than a few close calls.

The young knight winced as he imagined some of the consequences and promptly offered to take care of her while his adoptive father was at the shop. He figured she couldn't be much worse than the heartless Mytho had been. At least the little puppet was likely to be capable of understanding explanations of _why_ she shouldn't do something. The prince…hadn't. Charon accepted the offer with relief as he had grown quite attached to the puppet child even though she'd only been 'alive' for three days. Now they just had to explain the changes to Uzura. The older man called her back down, and yet another racket ensued as she rushed to see what her 'father' wanted. "Uzura," the smith explained once she toddled back down the stairs, "Fakir is going to be moving back in and has offered to take care of you while I am at the shop." "I can't come with you anymore-zura," the puppet girl asked sadly. "An active forge is no place for little girls," the older man pointed out patiently, "Besides you'll have fun together. Fakir has all sorts of stories he can tell you." Fakir nearly scowled at his adoptive father for that remark, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so when the green-haired child looked up at him so hopefully.

"I read a lot," the dark-haired teen admitted reluctantly, "And I have a good memory for fairy tales and things like that. So, yes, I know a lot of stories." Uzura cheered and hugged his leg again, "Yay! Stories-zura!" Fakir smiled faintly at her elation and reached down to pat her lightly on the head, "So does that mean you're okay with spending time with me instead of tagging along with Charon?" The little girl nodded enthusiastically and beamed up at him, "I want to hear Fakir's stories-zura!" A soft laugh slipped out of the young knight as Charon smiled, "Glad to hear it." Now that they'd cleared up that situation, the young man headed upstairs to put away his things and get himself settled. It didn't take him very long. The malachite-eyed teen had left most of his possessions at home when he'd left to attend the Academy, so all he really had to do was unpack his few extra uniforms and his favorite outfit before putting them away in his dresser. He _did_ have to pull his bedding out of storage and make his bed, but that was still a fairly quick process. That taken care of he looked around his room and smiled faintly at the familiarity of it all. True, Fakir had returned several times over the past few months to retrieve his practice sword and other things, but those had just been quick trips. He hadn't taken the time to reflect on the memories everything held. As much as he enjoyed attending the Academy, and had been fond of sharing the room with Mytho, it was good to be home again.

He was snapped out of his state of contented reflection by a knock that came at the door. The young knight opened it to find Uzura looking up at him. "Charon left," the little puppet explained when greeted by his puzzled frown, "So I looked for Fakir-zura." Fakir realized that it _was_ around the time when the smith left for the shop and sighed faintly. "Well, you found me," he told the little girl, "I'm guessing you want to hear a story now?" The green-haired child beamed and nodded eagerly as she darted passed him. The dark-haired young man turned to watch as she clambered up onto his bed, sat, and looked back at him eagerly. She really _did_ act like a little human girl, and yet another laugh slipped free. He strolled over and took a seat next to her before he started to recount one of the stories his mother had read to him when he was little boy for her amusement. It was a classic fairy-tale of a knight rescuing a princess from an evil dragon. The only reason he even remembered it was because, at the time, he'd been obsessed with such things. Some part of him had always had been drawn to the classic image of the heroic knight. Uzura was fascinated by the story and proved to be a rewarding audience. She gasped and cheered in all the right places; by the time Fakir finished she was bouncing up and down in sheer glee at the happy ending. "Another-zura," she demanded once he stopped speaking, and so he started another story.

Fakir spent the rest of the morning telling Uzura every story he could remember from his childhood. He even told her a heavily watered down version of 'The Prince and The Raven'. He was quite hungry by the time noon hit as he had not eaten breakfast, so the young knight took a break from his story-telling to make himself some lunch. The green-haired puppet tagged along and watched curiously as he moved about the kitchen. The dark-haired young man was fairly competent as far as cooking was concerned. He could make simple meals easily enough, so it didn't take him long before he was ready to sit down to eat. Charon typically made his own lunches early in the morning and brought them with him to the shop for later, so he never turned up. It was just Fakir and the little puppet. Uzura didn't eat because of what she was, but she was clearly fascinated by the food on his plate. She kept asking him what everything was, and the young man patiently explained between bites. Once he finished, the young knight briskly set about cleaning up once which drew even more interest from the green-haired puppet. She started to get underfoot as she started trying to help out, and the dark-haired teen soon got fed up with tripping over her.

"Uzura," the young man scolded as he picked her up, "Enough!" Uzura scowled at him and squirmed as she protested, "I want to help-zura!" Fakir tried to explain that grabbing random objects off of the table and running around the kitchen with them _wasn't_ helpful, but she was insistent. He finally calmed her down by promising she could help him rinse the dishes once he finished scrubbing them and moved a small stool over by the sink for her to climb up on. "So we're going to be doing something a bit different this afternoon," the green-eyed teen as he got started on the dishes. "Like what-zura," the little girl asked curiously. "I'm going to be heading to an old bookstore to be doing some research," he replied as a worried frown spread across his face, "A very good friend of mine is in trouble and I need to find some way to help him out." "Oooh," Uzura cooed before she inquired, "Bad trouble-zura?" "Very bad," Fakir told her seriously, "If I bring you with me, do you think you can keep yourself entertained?" "You can count on me-zura," the green-haired puppet proclaimed with a broad smile. The young knight returned her smile weakly, "Thank you." He knew she had no idea how important it was that he get back to finding a way to turn Mytho back to normal was. The fact that she was so willing to go along with his plans in spite of her ignorance was vastly appreciated.

The little puppet's assistance with the dishes made up a lot of the time he'd lost from tripping over her. Soon enough, they finished cleaning up and he headed back up to his room to change into something other than his uniform. For once, he didn't automatically go for his favorite outfit and instead grabbed a loose white shirt and charcoal pants. Once he got changed, he returned to the first floor to grab Uzura before he headed out. To his surprise, and slight trepidation, she had a small drum around her neck with a pair of drumsticks held in her hands. "Where did you get that," he asked uneasily. "Charon made it for me-zura," she chirped happily, "It's fun to play-zura!" Somehow, the dark-haired teen had a bad feeling about that little instrument being combined with the little puppet girl's high energy. Still, he didn't exactly have a concrete reason for her _not_ to bring it with her. "I see," he finally nodded, "Are you ready to go?" Uzura gave him a bright smile as she nodded, "Ready-zura!" The sky was slightly overcast, so he grabbed an umbrella before heading out with the child-like puppet in tow.

Fakir's bad feeling had been effectively confirmed by the time he and Uzura reached the bookstore. She'd been banging on her little drum the entire way over, and the instrument proved to be surprisingly loud for its size. 'Please let her stop once we're inside the store,' he prayed as he reached out to open the door, 'Please!' However, this prayer was doomed to go unanswered for very long. The little puppet stopped long enough to be introduced to the shopkeeper and for the young knight to make his way upstairs to go looking for the books he needed. Yet, the second he found a few selections that looked like they might be useful, she _immediately_ started playing her drum again and humming happily to herself. The noise was so distracting that the dark-haired teen could barely focus on reading. Still, he gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the racket. He wasn't as successful as he would have liked.

Finally, after an hour of Uzura's noise-making, he had enough. "Uzura," he stated with strained patience, "Come over here for a second." The little girl obeyed cheerfully and stopped playing for a moment as she toddled over. "Are you done reading-zura," she asked curiously. "No," the teen replied as he continued to do his best to mask his irritation, "I'm not. Would you mind _not_ playing your drum for a while? It's very distracting." "But that's _boring-zura_ ," the green-haired puppet whined. Fakir flinched at the petulant tone in her voice and struggled to remind himself that she was basically a toddler. She had no idea how important his research was. "I know," he tried to explain, "But I _really_ need to be able to concentrate. Maybe the shopkeeper can help you find some picture books and you can look through them instead." "Okay-zura," the little puppet agreed reluctantly before she wandered off to track down the old man. The young knight sighed in relief before returning to his reading. The rest of his afternoon passed peacefully, though it was not as productive as he would have liked. Several of the books he'd grabbed had pages missing out of the back which was severely irritating as they had also been the most promising of his day's selections. Still, he couldn't really expect too much from a used bookstore after all. There were bound to be a _few_ damaged books in the store's collection.

The young knight proceeded to replace the last of his books before he started looking for Uzura so they could head home. He found her in a corner of the first floor with a copy of 'The Prince and The Raven' open in front of her with her drum resting on the floor nearby. She was staring at the picture of Princess Tutu in fascination. Fakir desperately hoped she was only looking at the pictures and couldn't actually read. There was a _reason_ the version he'd told her was so heavily watered down. The original version of the story wasn't exactly appropriate for a child of her level of emotional maturity. It had _barely_ been age-appropriate for _him_ when he'd first read the tale. Still, he feigned ignorance of what she was up to as he addressed her, "What's that book you're looking at?" "The book man said it's that story you told me earlier-zura," the puppet girl held it up proudly as she replied, "With the prince and the raven in it-zura! The pictures are really pretty-zura!"

The young man relaxed slightly as he realized she wasn't able to read after all and knelt down next to her, "I see. Do you know who the characters in the pictures are?" "The knight wears armor," Uzura nodded as she listed them off, "The prince has a crown, and the raven is big and scary-zura." Fakir pointed at the panel she had been staring at earlier, "And her?" "I don't know-zura," the little girl frowned before smiling brightly, "She's really pretty-zura!" "That's Princess Tutu," The young knight told her, "She tries her hardest to help the prince because she loves him, remember?" The green-haired puppet looked down at the picture and cooed softly before looking back up at the young man, "I like her-zura!" "I do to," the dark-haired teen replied reflectively as he thought about the _real_ Tutu's alter-ego, "She's a good person…" The young man then gave himself a firm mental shake before he continued, "Anyways, it's time for us to head back. Charon will be wondering why we're late for dinner if we don't leave now." "Okay-zura," the little girl chirped as she stood up with her book in her arms, "Can I keep this-zura?" Fakir hadn't been planning on buying anything, but found he just couldn't say 'no' to the pleading look on the little puppet's face. He wondered if he might have a weakness for cute things as he sighed, "All right. I'll need to pay for it first, though." Uzura nodded happily and held her book out for him to take before she grabbed her drum and put it back on.

The young knight started walking over to the shopkeeper with a mildly resigned look on his face as the puppet child scampered ahead with her sticks once again clutched firmly in her tiny wooden fists. He suspected he was going to have to listen to her drumming all the way back to the house. The old man looked mildly smug as the dark-haired youth paid for the book which was countered by an irritated glare from the teen. They both knew the man had been giving him a hard time about how often he came in to read the book without buying it in the past and now, thanks to the green-haired puppet, he had finally done exactly that. "Thank you for coming by," the old shopkeeper snickered as the young man tucked the book under his arm, "Have a nice day!" Fakir gave an irritated scoff as he turned to leave the store with the little puppet in tow, "Hmph…" His annoyance grew slightly as he realized it had started to rain, but he _did_ have the umbrella with him. At least he could make it back home without being completely soaked in the process.

One malachite green eye was twitching faintly in annoyance as the teen and puppet reached their home. He'd been right about the drumming. Fakir opened the door and paused before heading in as Uzura darted past him gleefully. "Charon-zura," the little puppet called out happily, "Fakir bought me a book-zura!" Charon, who had been in the middle of setting the table, paused and knelt down to her level as he replied, "Well, that was nice of him. Did you say thank you?" The green-haired puppet shook her head slowly before she turned and looked up at the approaching young man with a guilty look, "Thank you-zura…" "You're welcome," the dark-haired youth replied shortly as he set the book down on the table. He didn't mean to be so curt, but that drum of hers really got on his nerves. He desperately wanted to toss the little percussion instrument into the forge and watch it burn after only a single afternoon of being exposed to it. He would never actually do this since it was clear that the little girl absolutely adored the blasted thing, but the desire was still there.

Fakir took over setting the table as the smith started talking to the puppet child about how her day had gone. "Fakir told me a lot of stories about knights and princes fighting bad guys and saving princesses-zura," Uzura recounted eagerly, "Then I watched him make lunch and he told me about what he was eating-zura. Then we went to the bookstore and I played my drum until Fakir asked me to stop-zura. Then the nice old man showed me a bunch of picture books which I looked at until it was time to leave-zura. Then Fakir bought me my favorite and we came back home-zura!" "Why did he ask you to stop playing your drum," Charon asked as he glanced at his son. "I was trying to read," the young knight explained as he finished placing the last of the dishes on the table, "Her drumming is really distracting." "Ah," the smith nodded understandingly, "Well, it sounds as though you both had a full day." "It was fun-zura," Uzura chirped as she banged on her drum happily which made the dark-haired teen scowl in annoyance. He really hated that instrument.

"I didn't make as much progress finding a solution to Mytho's situation as I would have liked," Fakir admitted as his adoptive father looked over his way, "But it could have been worse." He couldn't exactly talk about his research in depth with the little puppet present. She was far too innocent to understand what was going on and he wasn't going to change that if he could avoid it. Charon gave his son a concerned look as he stood, but seemed to understand his son was not going to elaborate further. Uzura continued to play her drum as the other two finished getting their dinner ready much to the dark-haired young man's irritation. Mercifully, she stopped when the smith announced the food was ready. The two men took their seats at the table and started their meal while the little puppet girl sat nearby watching them eat curiously. Conversation was minimal until the older man brought up something the young knight had mentioned that morning when he arrived.

"You said Princess Tutu's real name is Ahiru," the smith looked at his son curiously, "And that she is your friend, correct?" "Yes," Fakir replied with a puzzled frown, "Why?" "I never knew you had any friends aside from Mytho," his adoptive father gave an amused smile as he explained why he brought the topic back up, "I'm interested in hearing what she's like. Besides, it's thanks to her that I was able to believe in you again." This was something the dark-haired young man had not known and realized the reason the man had been acting so strange the past few years was because he had likely been influenced by a heart shard. He felt a surge of gratitude to his red-haired friend for removing it and giving him his family back. "Ahiru is in the beginner class at the School of Ballet and isn't the best dancer," the green-eyed teen explained reflectively, "She's rather clumsy when not transformed into Tutu, and is a little shorter as well. She has freckles and keeps her hair pulled back in a long braid. She can be a bit loud, and has a tendency to ramble when she's nervous or excited. She's pretty naïve and is a total idiot about some things, but it makes sense considering…" "Considering what," Charon asked when his son trailed off.

Fakir hesitated as he debated internally about whether he should reveal the truth about Ahiru. He trusted his adoptive father could keep it a secret, but he wasn't sure it was right for him to share that about her. The red-head hadn't even wanted _him_ to find out and would probably be happier if nobody else knew. "It's not important," the young knight stated having made up his mind to keep the fact that his friend was really a duck to himself before he continued fondly, "In spite of her flaws, Ahiru is probably the most likable person I've ever met. She's persistent, brave, perceptive, loyal, impossibly hopeful, genuinely compassionate, and is just one of the most forgiving people I know. She's nice to people even when they don't deserve her kindness. I tried really hard to push her away up until the last few weeks, so by all rights she _should_ hate me…yet she doesn't. She forgave me for all of the things I said and did to drive her off. I still have a hard time believing she actually _wants_ to be friends with me, but I'm glad she does. That's Ahiru." Charon gave his son an odd look as he wrapped up his description before observing, "It sounds like you really like this girl." "She's impossible to hate," Fakir admitted with a rueful smile, "And, believe me, I _tried_. I've never met anyone like her before. She's…unique." It was an apt description considering she was the only girl he'd ever met who had started life as a _duck_. The smith gave his the young man another odd look, but didn't press the subject. The rest of the meal passed uneventfully after that.

That evening, the dark-haired young man was flipping through one of his old books – in hopes that it might have a clue on how to help his friend that he had forgotten – when a knock came at his door. Uzura was standing outside when he opened it and promptly asked him, "Is Princess Tutu your friend-zura?" "Her name is Ahiru," Fakir corrected, "And yes she is." It occurred to him that, if Ahiru would want anyone to know her secret, it would be the puppet made from Edel's remains. "You know, there are some things about her that I didn't tell Charon," he commented idly before he offered, "Do you want to know what they are?" The little puppet nodded eagerly and the young knight motioned for her to come into his room which she promptly obeyed. She made a bee-line for his bed and scrambled up onto the mattress before staring intently at the green-eyed young knight.

"Like the character in the story," Fakir explained after he shut the door and took a seat on the shelf running along under his windows, "Ahiru likes Mytho a lot." "Who is Mytho-zura," the green-haired puppet interrupted curiously. "Mytho is my best friend," the green-eyed teen clarified patiently, "He's also the prince from the story of 'The Prince and The Raven' though he still has very few memories who he is at the moment." "Your best friend is the _Prince-zura_ ," Uzura exclaimed in awe. "He is," Fakir replied with a sad smile, "And he will return to the story one day. I'm going to miss him when that happens…" He then sighed and shook his head as he continued, "Back to Ahiru, she likes Mytho but she can never tell him how she feels." "Why not-zura," the little puppet asked. "Because if she does she'll vanish," the young knight replied, "It was in the original version of the story, but I left it out earlier. I didn't want the story to be sad, so I changed parts of it. But there's something else about Ahiru that only she and I know."

Uzura's eyes widened in curious fascination as he paused for effect before continuing, "Ahiru isn't really human." The little puppet's surprised coo made a slight smile flicker across his face as he resumed his story about his friend, "Ahiru's true self is a little yellow duck. The only reason she is in human form, and the reason she can become Tutu, is the red stone pendant hanging around her neck. That's part of why I find her to be so admirable. The real her is so small and frail. It took great deal of courage to be willing to take on Tutu's role, and just as much compassion." The little girl looked a bit confused as she asked, "A duck-zura?"

"Ducks are a type of bird," Fakir explained patiently, "With a flattish bill, wings, webbed feet, and a tail." "Oooh," the green-haired puppet cooed, "So Ahiru has a tail-zura!" "Sometimes, yes," the young man nodded before frowning seriously at the little puppet, "But remember, this is supposed to be a secret, so you can't tell _anyone_ about Ahiru being a duck. Not even Charon." Uzura looked thoughtful for a few moments before hopping down from his bed and looking back up at him, "I won't tell anyone about ducky Ahiru-zura!" The young knight laughed slightly at how she worded her promise before thanking her. The little puppet let herself out while the young man moved back over to his bed to resume reading his book. He didn't read for long before he started thinking about Ahiru again.

Talking about his new friend with both Uzura and his adoptive father had made Fakir start to think more about how he actually felt about her. In spite of how little time he'd spent actually thinking of her as a friend, he was remarkably fond of her. In fact she was far more important to him than she should be. It was puzzling. 'How did she become so close to me so fast,' he frowned thoughtfully as he shut his book and set it to the side. It normally took him a lot longer to warm up to people let alone grow so deeply attached to someone. Mytho had been a bit of an exception as he'd already had a healthy case of hero worship as a foundation. The situation with Ahiru was a lot more complicated. For one thing, he hadn't started out liking her as a human. It had been her duck form. The best he could say about her human identity back then was that he tolerated her, and his feelings for her identity as Tutu were flat out resentful. He remembered choosing to claim the little duck as a friend, and the sudden shock he'd suffered when it had been revealed that the red-haired ballerina, Princess Tutu, and his new friend were all the same person.

Surprisingly, the young knight's feelings of friendship towards the simple duck he'd thought her to be had survived mostly intact. Admittedly, he'd had a hard time letting go of his wariness about trusting her, and there had also been the issue his lingering resentment for her identity as Princess Tutu. Yet that resentment hadn't lasted long and the wariness had dropped sharply after she'd saved the prince when he was taken out of the fight. Plus there was a lot about the girl he genuinely admired once he had come to look at her as an ally as opposed to a liability. Fakir trusted her as an ally, and she was surprisingly enjoyable company in spite of how she could be an idiot at times. It probably would have taken longer for him to be comfortable in her presence if it hadn't been for his meetings with her as a duck, though. She hadn't been _trying_ to make him like her back then. The encounters had been purely accidental…with the exception of the last one where she saw him crying. The young knight sighed as he realized that _that_ incident in particular had most likely been the catalyst because she had seen a part of him he normally kept hidden. She had seen him _cry_ which was something no one other than Charon could claim; even then, the last time the smith had seen the young man cry he'd been a child mourning the loss of his parents. Even his surrogate older sister, Raetsel, had never seen him in such a state.

The truth was, Fakir hated it when other people saw him crying because it reminded him of how weak and helpless he'd been as a child. He resented those memories. Yet Ahiru had seen him at his weakest and had not thought any less of him for it. If anything, her words in the tunnels indicated it had made her respect him. She had bypassed the majority of his barriers purely by accident. She _knew_ him in a way nobody else did, and he also knew _her_. Aside from Uzura, he was the only one who knew she was really a duck. It created a bond of sorts between them. Strengthening that bond was the fact that they shared the desire to do what was best for Mytho. He could relate to her in that regard. The only reason they had started out as adversaries was because he had disagreed with her about what was best for his white-haired friend. That was no longer the case.

So – between his initial fondness for the simple duck he'd thought her to be, the bond between them over the secret's they each knew about each other, and the shared desire to protect the prince – Fakir had to admit that he could see how the friendship between them had grown so fast. He then smiled faintly as he admitted that another part of his fondness for the girl was the fact that she was _way_ too much fun to tease. She made it _far_ too easy and her reactions were just so cute. 'I really _do_ have a weakness for cute things,' he decided with a short laugh. The young knight yawned as he came to a conclusion about his feelings. He liked Ahiru as a close friend, and he had a pretty good idea of both how and why it had happened so fast. He could live with that. The young man yawned again and got up to get ready for bed. It was still a bit early, but he'd also gone two full nights without sleep. He wasn't about to let himself wear out again when he didn't have to. Fortunately, once he settled down to sleep that night, the few dreams he _did_ have were pleasant ones and he rested well.

Fakir didn't wake up until late the following morning. Charon had already left for the shop, and there was no sign of Uzura. The young knight supposed he should have been concerned, but he knew Goldkrone was fairly safe aside from the ravens. However, there was little harm they could, or even would, visit upon a child-like puppet. Most likely they would ignore her entirely. The dark-haired teen was willing to leave her to her own devices knowing that. His plans for the day involved checking the public library to see if he could find any hints on how to help Mytho in the books there. Specifically, either a way to cure him of the taint of raven's blood, or a way to send the infected teen back to the story where the young knight hoped _someone_ would be able to fix him. They _had_ had prior experience with the ravens after all. Surely someone would know what to do… The collection wasn't as expansive as the Academy library's nor was it as varied as the used bookstore. It was still worth checking out, though. The young man changed from his sleeping clothes into his favorite outfit, made himself a quick breakfast before setting out, and spent the rest of the morning – and part of the afternoon – at the library reading.

Around the middle of the afternoon he started getting hungry again and decided to head home for a quick snack. He stopped to check out a few of the books he'd been reading that looked the most promising before he left. Fakir was practically all the way back to the house when he spotted a familiar red-head sprawled face first on the ground on a nearby street. 'Ahiru,' he stared in disbelief as he watched her crawl up to all fours, 'What the hell is she doing?' "Hey," the dark haired young man asked as he came to a stop in front of her, "What are you doing here?" Ahiru looked up at him in surprise which soon gave way to relief as she smiled up at him, "Oh, Fakir!" Whatever else she may have been about to say was cut off by Uzura running passed her and coming to a stop by his side as _she_ called out his name. That clearly caught the red-head off guard as she started to sputter, "Fakir… Fakir? I-is this…is she someone…someone you know?" "She had a butt-zura," the little puppet blurted out abruptly effectively stunning the blue-eyed ballerina into complete silence and drawing his full attention.

Somehow, he was not looking forward to learning what the child-like puppet had been up to. "Did you do something to her," Fakir asked the little girl warily. The green-haired puppet started to bang on her drum as she cheerfully proclaimed, "I found her butt when I was looking for her tail-zura!" Of all the outcomes he was anticipating from his telling her about his friend's true form…this was not one of them. Plus that drum of hers was rapidly getting on his nerves again. He shot her an exasperated look before reaching down and grasping her head with a firm, "Stop that." The young knight completely forgot that Ahiru had no idea the little girl was a puppet, so her startled reaction when he twisted Uzura's head completely around understandable in retrospect. Yet when the diminutive ballerina let out a loud duck-like quack before suddenly reverting to her duck form in a flash of light the malachite-eyed young man was caught completely off guard.

Fakir gaped in surprise at her sudden transformation, but Uzura didn't hesitate for a second as she darted off for the house. The young knight had no idea what she was up to, and at the moment didn't care all that much. He was more fixated on working out why his friend had suddenly turned into a duck when she was still wearing her pendant. Yes, he had technically seen this happen once before, but he still didn't know _why_. He walked forward and knelt down in front of the crumpled pile of clothing as a small lump started thrashing around trying to escape. No doubt that was Ahiru in duck mode. A weak quack slipped out of her as she finally poked her head out and she seemed dazed. The dark-haired young man was concerned, so he reached out to tap her on the shoulder to snap her out of it. He had just started to call out to her as well when the little puppet girl returned with a pitcher full of water…and promptly poured it over the duck's head.

The young knight suddenly flushed as it occurred to him that Uzura had probably already seen her transform into a duck and back again while she was out…and that water would turn his friend back into a human girl; a _naked_ human girl. Fakir immediately scrambled desperately around the corner of a nearby house and leaned against the wall before sliding down it as he struggled to get his embarrassment back under control. She'd only just started transforming as he'd begun to move, so he hadn't seen anything but still… That was still far too close for comfort. 'Why do things like this happen to me,' he freaked out internally as he heard the red-head start to mumble dazedly about the puppet girl's head spinning around. She may have been back to normal, but was clearly out of it; which meant she was lying there in the street…completely naked.

The blushing young man immediately cursed his vivid imagination as it started trying to fill in the gaps of his mental image of his friend from the last time this had happened. He did _not_ need that! Fakir banged his head hard against the wall to dislodge the thought before he heard Uzura call after him curiously, "Why are you hiding-zura?" "Shut up," he snapped back at her. He was freaking out, in pain, and not in the mood to be patient with her complete lack of understanding of why he was _not okay_ with his friend being nude. Ironically, it took him about as much time to calm back down as it did for Ahiru to snap out of her daze and realize she was naked. He heard her yelp suddenly and soon after the frantic rustle of cloth came indicating she was getting dressed as fast as she could. The young knight slowly stood and waited for her to start to wonder where he'd gone before calling out, "I'm over here."

The red-head soon poked her head around the corner and blinked as she noticed the lingering blush across his cheeks. "Are you okay," she asked. "You could have _warned_ me about that," he muttered agitatedly as he looked over at her. "Eh," the blue-eyed girl blinked, "About what?" "The fact that you turn into a duck when you quack," Fakir stated bluntly, "And that water turns you human again. I barely managed to get clear in time after Uzura decided to dump water on you." Ahiru started blushing herself as she realized he had nearly seen her naked…again…and had only avoided it because of his quick reflexes. "Oh," she croaked weakly, "Sorry… Yeah… I should have told you… Thanks for not looking…" The young man's blush deepened slightly as he muttered, "I just don't like my friends being naked around me is all… Mytho hanging around our room without pants was bad enough…" _That_ mental image made the red-head's blush worse as she let out a half-quack before slamming her hands over her mouth. Thankfully she didn't transform.

Uzura wandered over to the blushing teens and looked up at them curiously, "Why are your faces all red-zura?" "Not talking about it," the dark-haired young man scowled down at her. He then turned to his friend and gestured towards his home, "Come on. We can talk more inside." Ahiru nodded and followed after him silently as he led the way over to the nearby house. He noticed she still looked a bit dazed, and figured she was still freaked by seeing the green-haired puppet's head being twisted like that. He decided to see if tea was as effective a calming agent for her as it had been for Mytho. It couldn't hurt. "Sit down," Fakir told her as he headed over to the stove to get the hot water going. The red-head gave him a confused look, but did as he said as the little puppet scrambled up into the seat facing the girl. As soon as the tea was ready, he poured her a cup and brought it over to the table. "Here," the young knight stated as he set it down and gave her a mildly concerned look as she started drinking it. "Have you calmed down a little bit," he asked while leaning on the table with one hand. "Yeah, thanks," Ahiru replied with a grateful smile before inquiring curiously, "Who is that girl?" The dark-haired youth glanced over at Uzura and smiled faintly as he replied, "Her name is Uzura. Charon made her from the unburned remnants of Edel's wood." The diminutive ballerina looked surprised at that revelation before turning thoughtful, "Edel-san's? Is that why she knew me?"

Fakir knew she was hoping that something of Edel remained within the little puppet and felt a bit guilty over the fact he would have to dash that hope. "No," he admitted softly, "I told her about you." Ahiru gave him a surprised look at that, "What?" "I told her about you and about Mytho," the young knight clarified with a slightly saddened frown as his guilt over the older puppet's death returned momentarily, "But it seems that Edel's memories are gone. Burned away in the flame that warmed my body, and lit the way for you and Mytho…" The red-head looked solemn as his words registered and she repeated quietly, "Edel-san… She saved our lives." To his surprise, however, she started to smile and closed her eyes as she continued, "I'm happy I get to see her again, even if it's like this." The dark-haired young man was relieved that she wasn't upset that Uzura was a completely different person from Edel. That, if anything, she was comforted by even this vague reminder of their lost friend; Fakir straightened up and smiled down at her softly. She really was unlike anyone he'd ever met.

Ahiru started to continue cheerfully, "Saying that, she does kind of resemble Edel somehow…" He never found out the rest of what she was about to say as the little puppet – who had apparently not been paying _any_ attention to the teens' conversation – suddenly leapt onto the table and banged her drum…hard. The sudden noise startled the red-head into letting out a sudden, "Quack!" She promptly turned back into a duck and started quacking frantically as Uzura grabbed for the vase on the table. 'God _damn_ it, Uzura,' the young knight swore internally as he darted over to the nearby wall and pressed his face up against it, 'Of all the things you could have fixated on, why this!?' The sudden thump behind him was all the teen needed to know that Ahiru had turned back into a human and likely slammed her head on the underside of the table in the process. He winced slightly in sympathy knowing that _had_ to have hurt. "What are you doing-zura," Uzura asked as she finally noticed where he was. "Shut up," Fakir snapped back in irritation. He was going to have to explain to her that she couldn't keep harassing his friend like that just because she was fascinated by the girl's transformation.

He then quickly changed the subject and addressed the red-head under the table, "Anyway, didn't you have a reason for coming here?" The faint rustling from behind him indicated the diminutive ballerina hadn't hesitated in pulling her clothes back on before she replied, "Yeah. It's about Mytho." The young knight turned to look back at her to as she continued, "The other day, he tried to take Pique's heart!" The dark-haired young man's attention sharpened as Ahiru concluded, "That didn't work, so now he's trying to do the same thing to Freya-san." Fakir started to frown as he recalled Kraehe's words about how and why the prince was changing. He realized the Raven Princess had refrained from telling the red-head even though she knew it would hurt the younger girl. Was she expecting _him_ to tell her? If so, she was going to be disappointed. "Hey," the blue-eyed girl suddenly asked him, "What do you think could have happened to Mytho? Did you find out anything?" Fakir had, thanks to the Raven's Daughter, but he had no intention of telling her. Not when he knew it would break her heart. "No," he lied flatly as he looked away from her earnest gaze, "Nothing."

"I see," Ahiru looked disappointed before she continued with forced cheerfulness, "All right. I just thought you might have found something." "Right," the young knight replied as he tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at him for lying to her. Even though it was for her own good, the fact that she clearly _trusted_ him and had been hoping he could help her made lying to her like this feel like a complete betrayal. He'd have to make it up to her somehow. His chance came when she addressed him as she turned to leave, "Well then, I'm worried about Freya-san, so I'm going to head back." "Wait," he called after her just before she reached the door. The red-head made an inquisitive noise as she turned to look back at him. "I'll go with you," he told her seriously before he walked over with a quick order to the little puppet looking on, "Uzura, take care of the house." "Leave it to me-zura," Uzura chirped cheerfully as she started banging on her drum again. Fakir grasped the door knob as he glanced over at Ahiru, "Let's go." "Right," the girl nodded firmly.

They both exited the house and started to jog down the street. The dark-haired young man knew he was faster than she was and so adjusted his pace so she could keep up without tiring herself out prematurely. "There's a contest going on back on campus," the red head called after him as they turned into the alley she had fallen out of, "Mytho probably won't make a move while it's going on." "How long do you think it'll last," he asked her. "I don't know," she admitted, "I know most of the girls in the advanced and intermediate classes are participating though." "That still isn't much time," the young knight frowned uneasily, "We have to hurry!" As they ran, his mind raced furiously to come up with a plan. He knew she cared deeply for his friend, so it wasn't fair to ask her to stand up to Mytho. Not when it meant she might have to get rough with him. However, that was something the young knight knew _he_ could do. He already had on several occasions in the past, after all. That meant he'd be leaving the task of rescuing Freya up to the diminutive ballerina. Fortunately, it was something he knew she was capable of handling since she'd clearly succeeded once already.

With his plan in mind, Fakir called back to the girl running after him, "Leave Mytho to me. You save Freya!" "Ah," Ahiru started to protest, "But if we tried talking to Mytho…" The young knight cut her off sharply, "You just need to do what I tell you!" It was something he had said to Mytho many times before when he was worried for the other young man's well-being and the same concern was underpinning his words now. Words weren't going to be enough to snap the white-haired teen out of the control of the raven's blood that was slowly infecting the rest of his heart. He _knew_ that…but the red-head did not. The dark-haired teen wanted to protect her from the pain of that revelation. In fact, he never wanted her to suffer ever again. He didn't know _why_ this was so important to him all of a sudden, but he was determined to keep her safe. In only a handful of days, the diminutive ballerina had become just as important to him as the prince. Not because of any promise he'd made, or any sense of duty but purely because he liked her and wanted her to be happy. "O-okay," Ahiru replied hesitantly as they continued to run. "We need to be careful entering campus," Fakir called back after a while, "I'm technically not allowed to set foot on school grounds until my suspension is up." "Eh," the red-head yelped, "Why?!" "You'd have to ask the Dean about that," he replied wryly. "Wasn't asking about that," the blue-eyed girl shot back shortly, "Why are you willing to risk getting in even more trouble?" The young knight snorted before he replied, "You have to ask? Mytho's well-being is more important than that!"

It didn't take them too much longer to make it to campus and Fakir quickly darted over to the wall of the Main Hall as Ahiru looked around to see if anyone was nearby. "Okay," she called quietly once she made sure the coast was clear, "There's no one here!" The young knight was still cautious as he snuck through the building and peered out cautiously as the red-head scanned the campus green. The dark-haired teen could hear Mr. Katze announcing the end of the contest and flinched as he realized they could very well be too late. "It's over," he told his friend as he slipped out of the building. The diminutive ballerina hesitated a few moments before she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, that's right!" She abruptly ran off towards the campus gardens without warning. "Hey," Fakir called softly after her in surprise before following after her with a wary look at the crowd lingering by the stage set up in the middle of the green. If any of them should happen to spot him there was no way he wouldn't end up being expelled. Not that he really cared that much at the moment, but he'd still rather avoid that outcome if he could. Fortunately, the universe had mercy on him for once and he escaped all notice as he followed Ahiru. "The winner of the contest is supposed to become Mytho's partner until Rue recovers from an injury," the red-head explained once he caught up, "Only she was faking it the entire time! They turned the contest into a trap! Freya must have won!" Fakir didn't respond verbally, but his eyes narrowed as he acknowledged her words. This trap was just as subtle as the one they'd caught _him_ in.

As soon as they reached the gardens a soft gasp slipped out of Ahiru and the young knight barely managed to suppress one of his own. "Freya-san," the red-head exclaimed quietly as she drew back and gave Fakir a worried look. He recognized the girl dancing as one of Mytho's fans from the advanced class. Far more unnerving was the sight of the white-haired teen clad in a black outfit with raven's wings coming off of his arms and standing on a pillar that seemed to be made of ravens. Not to mention the dark and twisted flowers spreading across the gardens as the blonde girl danced gracefully. The dark-haired young man didn't hesitate for long and rushed forward without a word. He had to stop the prince before he did something he'd regret! He heard the blue-eyed girl call his name in surprise, but didn't look back. She knew the plan and he was going to trust that she would follow it. His trust was not misplaced as the sound of her addressing his entranced classmate soon reached his ears.

As he ran he noted that the other young man seemed to be affected by the sight of Ahiru in Tutu's form. That was something he could use! However, the effect of her appearance didn't last long and the possessed prince soon reverted to his raven state. "Don't keep showing up like this," the false Mytho threatened the magical ballerina lowly, "Hurry up and disappear!" Fakir ignored everything else going on as he drew near to the pillar his corrupted friend was standing on and leapt upwards the second he was close enough. The Raven Prince looked down at him in surprise before glaring furiously as the young knight gripped him hard by the shoulders and demanded, "Snap out of it, Mytho!" "Let go," the false Mytho hissed angrily. "No," Fakir snapped as he glared back, "I'm not going to let you do this!" The white-haired teen looked surprised for a moment before a scornful look crossed his face, "As if a worthless failure of a knight would be able to stop me." The young knight flinched slightly as the barbed words hit home, but didn't back down. "Look," he snapped hoarsely as he looked back over his shoulder at where Ahiru was working her magic, and the Raven Prince followed his gaze. "Look at Tutu's dance," the dark-haired young man concluded harshly. The corrupted young man gasped slightly as the sight of the white-haired ballerina's graceful motions struck him like a hammer.

"I can't hear them," Freya cried out in anguish as they both watched, "I can't hear the voices of the flowers!" "Don't give up," the red-haired ballerina mimed her words as she spoke them, "Remember your prayers…" Fakir could see the moment the blonde girl started to break free from the raven's spell as her eyes widened and she looked around, "My prayers…" "Yes," Ahiru reminded her as she danced closer, "Your prayers for everyone to be happy. That was what you wished for, wasn't it, Freya-san?" The second the raven's power over the false Mytho's intended victim broke the dark-and twisted blossoms disintegrated to reveal the true flowers they had been covering, and the young knight relaxed slightly. At least one part of his plan had worked out. However, the second the blue-eyed ballerina stopped dancing the prince started to slip back under the raven's control. "Mytho," the green-eyed teen pleaded desperately, "Remember!" Unfortunately, his pleas were in vain for – even as the dark outfit faded away to be replaced by his normal uniform – the white haired teen lashed out and knocked him away as he screamed, "Why won't you love me? _Why_?!"

The dark-haired teen grunted as he hit the ground, but immediately started to roll back to his feet. The second he was standing again, Fakir looked up at his corrupted friend and tried once more, "Mytho, remember your true self!" He could see the other teen's eyes start to flicker between red and gold as he murmured shakily, "My true self…" However, any hopes he had of reaching the conflicted young man were dashed as Kraehe suddenly appeared above the shaking teen and proclaimed, "There is no need to listen to the words of a knight who should have died." "Kraehe," Ahiru breathed as she looked up at the black-clad ballerina while the young knight scowled in annoyance. "The way you are now is the real Mytho," the Raven's Daughter stated once she landed and took the white-haired teen's face in her hands gently. Mytho swooned abruptly and fell into a faint as she caught him. "Kraehe, did you do something to Mytho," the red-haired ballerina demanded and the dark-haired young man tensed. There was no way Kraehe wouldn't jump on the opening that gave her. "You're the one who made the prince like this, Tutu," the black clad ballerina declared with a soft laugh.

"What," Ahiru gasped as her green-eyed companion flinched. "Stop it," he demanded desperately. The Raven Princess ignored him as she continued smugly, "You returned the feeling of love to the prince without knowing that it had been bathed in raven's blood." Fakir could hear the anguish in his younger friend's voice as she gasped at this cruel revelation and looked down in shame and frustration. He'd never wanted her to know! Then Kraehe gave the verbal dagger an added twist as she looked over at him and asked mockingly, "You didn't tell her, Fakir?" He saw the shock on Ahiru's face as she turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye, but before she could say anything a swarm of ravens engulfed the two of them. The young knight raised his arms in defense, but the bird-like creatures did nothing more than fly around them and caw derisively as their mistress laughed, "I have to thank you, Tutu!" The ravens vanished soon afterwards and the dark-haired youth lowered his arms to see what the Raven Princess was up to. It was with mixed feelings of relief and dismay that he noticed she had vanished; relief because it was unlikely that she would strike again, and dismay because she had taken Mytho with her.

Fakir looked guiltily over at his friend as she fell to her knees and murmured sadly, "Mytho…" He didn't know what to say to her. He'd lied to her, after all, and now she knew the truth he'd tried to hide. 'What _can_ I say,' he fretted as she released Tutu's form and returned to normal, 'I _lied_ to her and now she _knows_ that I lied. I just wanted to protect her, but I couldn't even manage that…' The sense of failure drew the bitter depression that had been buried by his interactions with Uzura to resurface and he looked away as she checked on the unconscious Freya. "She's like Pique was," Ahiru sighed in relief as she looked up at him, "Do you think she'll be okay if we leave her?" The depressed knight hesitated momentarily before he quietly replied, "Probably. She won the contest, after all, so someone should come looking for her." "That's right," the red-head agreed before she slowly got to her feet and sighed, "Let's go." "Okay," the young man nodded, and the two teens departed.

Ahiru opted to tag along with the depressed young knight as he returned home. They were half way back when he finally got up the nerve to ask hesitantly, "Hey, are you angry that I hid that from you?" "A little," the red-head replied tightly. Fakir glanced away as he apologized, "I'm sorry." He really _had_ been trying to protect her. The diminutive ballerina was silent for a few moments before she asked him, "Mytho is Mytho, right?" The dark-haired teen shot her a confused look at her question, and the blue-eyed girl stopped and turned to look back at him with a hopeful smile on her face as she clarified, "Even if he has the raven's blood in him he's still Mytho, so he'll go back to being his old self one day, right?" A soft smile graced the young man's face as he replied, "That's true." Her hopefulness really was contagious, and he could feel his mood improve somewhat.

They walked on a ways in companionable silence before Ahiru asked, "Uzura-chan's waiting for you, huh?" Fakir shot her a stern glance at the reminder of the mischievous puppet, "You be careful of Uzura!" "Huh," the red-head blinked in confusion, "Why?" "Don't tell me you forgot what she pulled on you earlier," the young knight rolled his eyes in exasperation. He knew she remembered when she blushed heavily and mumbled, "Ah… That…" "Yes, that," he shot her an amused smirk before he frowned seriously, "I'm going to have to talk with her about it before it becomes a habit. If I'd known telling her you were a duck would turn out like this I wouldn't have said anything." "Why did you tell her that anyways," Ahiru asked and the young man blushed slightly in response. "I thought that if you'd want anyone to know it would be her," he admitted quietly as he looked away, "Considering her origins and all…" "Edel-san," a sad smile crossed the blue-eyed girl's face as she softly confessed, "I still miss her a little…" Fakir looked down at her and sighed as he quietly replied, "So do I…"

 **A/N:** I realize this chapter was mostly slice of life up until the events of the episode kicked in. I enjoy writing slice of life bits for Fakir. It gives insight into how he's changing. And yes I did drop hints about the fact that he is already starting to fall in love with Ahiru. I also dropped another hint. Let me know if you catch it? If not that's fine. I have nothing else to really say right now, so I'll see you all next chapter!


	18. Wait What?

**A/N:** Ah, the Femio episode. We will be seeing none of him in this chapter. Thank god… Expect more slice of life bits until the episode kicks in. Fakir doesn't do much more than research while he's suspended… It makes it hard to come up with anything interesting for him to do off screen… Darn you Fakir! Show up more and do things! Well, let's get started with this chapter where I struggle to make up events worth reading about. Yay. At least the chapter title is certain to be amusing. It pretty much sums up Fakir's reactions to things during the episode. Poor Fakir… Here we go.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Especially Femio. I don't like Femio. He bugs me. Thank goodness he only shows up in this one episode…

Chapter 18: Wait…what?!

For the most part, the next few days settled into a fairly regular pattern for the smith's household. After the young knight talked the matter over with Charon, Uzura gained free rein to wander around town on her own and explore so long as she refrained from harassing a certain red-haired ballerina. The older man continued his normal routine in the shop and soon got caught up sufficiently on his commissions that he was free to take part of the day off to relax. Fakir spent most of his days either at the public library or the bookstore researching. When he wasn't doing that he would practice his swordplay and ballet forms. The last of his injuries from the lake incident had fully healed by the fourth day of his suspension, so he was able to increase the intensity of his practice sessions after that. Not to mention that, as far as he was concerned, his being suspended was no reason to slack off. Yet he also spent a fair amount of time with his diminutive friend. After classes at the Academy ended, Ahiru would show up and they'd spend time together, though how that time was spent tended to vary.

More often than not she turned up while he was dancing and would simply sit quietly and watch. He'd asked her why that was one day and Ahiru sheepishly admitted that she found his dancing inspiring. It made her want to improve her own skill, and she kept coming back because she often got discouraged in her normal classes. Plus she just loved how expressive he was when he danced; he'd blushed slightly when she told him that, but hadn't told her to stop coming. He could tell she had meant it about how he inspired her to improve and he couldn't deny that it was a nice feeling to have; being an inspiration to his friend. He started to genuinely enjoy performing his routines for her after a while. It felt right; having her there watching him. Yet there were a few occasions where she turned up while he was at the library or bookstore. Then he would either stop for the day to chat with her, or she would take a seat nearby, pull out her homework, and struggle with it until he took pity on her and offered to help. She usually tried to insist that she could handle it and that she didn't want to interrupt his hunt for a cure for Mytho's condition. He appreciated that, but he could also tell that she was having a hard time. It inevitably ended with him taking a break long enough to help her through the things she was struggling with before going back to his books. Such instances weren't all that common, but they happened often enough that her protests became more of a formality. They both knew he wasn't willing to sit by and let her agonize over her studies when he knew he could help.

The rest of the time they would spend simply talking to each other either on the library steps, outside the bookstore, in Charon's kitchen, or while simply wandering around town. The topics tended to vary. Sometimes they'd talk about the books he was reading, but more often the blue-eyed girl would just ramble on a random topic and the dark-haired young man would listen with a faint smile on his face. He learned a lot from her rambles, though. Fakir learned about her two friends, Pique and Lilie, and realized he had actually met them twice before. Once when he'd been looking for Mytho early in the year, and the day he confronted his red-haired friend about her double life as Tutu. In spite of that, he didn't really have much of an opinion on either girl beyond finding the blonde one's laugh to be irritating. After listening to the diminutive ballerina ramble on about them, though, he decided that if he had to choose which one he would tolerate better it would be the magenta haired Pique. She sounded less annoying. Fakir also learned about just how deeply Ahiru adored ballet. True, he enjoyed it a fair bit himself, but his feelings _paled_ in comparison to hers. Ballet was the most important thing in her life next to helping Mytho and her friends. He learned that she had holes in her memory from before she started attending the Academy.

It turned out that, even though Ahiru knew she was really a duck, she didn't remember much of that life and she was a bit worried she wouldn't be able to go back to being a normal duck after the story ended. If he were fully honest with himself, Fakir would prefer it if she remained human. He liked spending time with her and didn't want her to have to give up the things she loved; the things that made her happy. In the back of his mind, he started trying to work out a solution to her dilemma on top of Mytho's. Surely there had to be some way to allow her to remain human. In the meantime, the young knight did his best to reassure her that she would probably be fine and that she was worrying over nothing. Actually, his words were, "Moron, don't fret over such pointless things." Still, the _intent_ behind them was comforting. The days weren't all pleasant though. The dark-haired young man's research was not as productive as he would have liked – even on the days Ahiru didn't turn up – and the most promising books he found always had the back pages torn out. It was extremely frustrating. Adding to Fakir's growing stress levels were the updates Ahiru regularly gave him on what was going on with Mytho and Kraehe during his absence.

The true prince was gradually surfacing less and less often indicating that the raven in him was growing stronger. The one consolation was that the pair hadn't made another attempt to claim a heart to sacrifice to the Raven since the incident with Freya at the beginning of the week. Furthermore, the red-head reported that the girl barely remembered anything about the incident – just like in Pique's case according to the diminutive redhead – which was a relief. The young knight was well aware that if the truth about what was happening in Goldkrone were to ever become common knowledge a panic would break out. In spite of the many changes his opinion on how best to deal with the story unfolding in town had undergone recently, the one thing that hadn't was his firm belief that it was for the best if the rest of the townsfolk and students remained ignorant of what was really going on. Regardless of all of that, he was growing increasingly worried about how things were progressing during his absence. However, he was equally aware that his stress levels would have been even higher if he'd no idea what was going on with his friend and the Raven Princess. In spite of the toll it took on his nerves, he was grateful to Ahiru for keeping him in the loop as much as she could.

As the week passed, Fakir's feelings for his red-haired friend continued to gradually change into something far stronger than mere friendship. He never noticed this shift, but it was happening nonetheless. It showed in the little things. How he smiled more often when she was near; the soft look that crossed his face when he was listening to her, and the increasing gentleness of his teasing. There was his growing desire to protect her as best as he could, the increasing importance of her remaining happy and untroubled by fears, and even his willingness to set his research aside to help her with her school-work could be counted as a sign. But the most telling sign was the increasing frequency with which she appeared in his dreams.

The activities they partook in during these dreams were fairly mild; nothing more intense than hugging or holding hands while smiling at each other, and always they featured a dance on the misty lake first. About the only thing that changed were their outfits. Sometimes he was the knight while she was Tutu, while others they were dressed in their casual clothes; occasionally they were even dressed in costumes from classic ballets. Yet Fakir still had yet to pick up on what was happening to him. All he knew was that he was growing increasingly more comfortable with Ahiru's presence until he genuinely looked forward to her appearances. She had officially, in his mind at least, gained the title of best friend alongside Mytho. The young man wrote off his growing fondness as just his friendship with her growing stronger. He wasn't entirely wrong about that as she was his friend first and foremost, and always would be. Two days before the end of his suspension, however, he would begin to have cause to start to question that mindset.

The day had started out normally; the young man had awoken early and, by virtue of being the first one up, started making breakfast. That was how things operated in Charon's household: whoever woke up first was the one to make breakfast for everyone else. It ensured that the first one out of bed wouldn't be forced to wait for anyone else to wake up and prepare breakfast before they could eat. They'd just have to wait for everyone else to get up and moving. Fakir'd had another dream about Ahiru that morning and was a bit flustered because his dream-self had kissed her hand right before he woke up. The blush gracing his cheeks had fully faded by the time his adoptive father and Uzura emerged from the first floor bedroom, much to his relief. The young knight did _not_ want to have to explain to the curious little puppet why his face was red again when a certain red-head was neither present nor unclothed. It had been mortifying enough having to explain to the little puppet why he and the red-haired girl had been blushing after the entire surprise transformation incident. As far as Fakir was concerned, any further discussions about such matters were to be avoided at all costs.

The smith nodded drowsily at his son as he took a seat at the table. It occasionally took the man several minutes to wake up in the mornings; tea helped. "Morning, Fakir," he mumbled around a wide yawn. "Good morning," the young knight replied with an amused smirk, "Tea's in the pot next to the bread." "Thanks," the half-asleep man mumbled as he awkwardly poured himself a cup and started sipping at it. Fakir brought over the last plate of food soon after and took a seat himself before starting to eat. Uzura had been sitting in the corner idly banging on her drum to amuse herself this entire time. It had taken a while, but the dark-haired teen had finally learned to tune it out. Thus it came as a bit of a surprise when she suddenly stopped playing and blurted out, "Can Ahiru be my sister-zura?" Fakir had been in the middle of chewing a bite of sausage and nearly choked on it as he gasped in surprise at her words. Charon had been lucky enough to be between bites, but was just as startled by the sudden question. "That's an odd question," the smith replied with a puzzled look directed at the little puppet, "Why do you ask?"

"I like her-zura," Uzura blinked innocently, "She's funny and nice-zura. I want her around more-zura." "She is a sweet girl," the older man agreed as his son's coughing fit started to calm down, "But I'm sure she has her own family who would miss her if she were gone. I can't just take her away because you want her around more often. Besides she comes over to visit pretty regularly these days." "But Fakir's happier when she's here-zura," the little girl pointed out, "I like when Fakir is happy-zura! If she was my sister she'd be here all the time-zura! Then Fakir would be happy all the time!" "She's my friend," the young knight managed as he caught his breath, "It's normal to be happy when a friend takes the time to visit. Anyways, she wouldn't be able to be here all the time whether she were your sister or not. She has classes." Uzura looked disappointed, but let the subject drop. Charon, however, didn't entirely, "I have noticed you seem happier around her than you did around Mytho." "That's because Ahiru doesn't have a death wish," Fakir stated dryly, "I don't worry about her as much." The smith didn't question the fact that his son worried about the girl. He knew full well that the young man worried about _everyone_ he cared for because he was terrified of losing them.

"Fakir likes Ahiru-zura," Uzura chirped happily. The young knight almost blushed at that as he muttered, "Of course I do. Friends like each other. That's how friendship works." Fakir was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation the longer it ran on. Fortunately for the dark-haired youth's ease of mind, the topic wasn't pursued any further and the rest of the meal passed uneventfully. He was able to push his unease away by the time the smith started cleaning up the empty dishes and pitched in to help. "So what do you have planned for the day," the older man asked his son as they cleaned. "More research," the young man shrugged, "I'm going to try the bookstore again." "Have you made any progress at all," his adoptive father frowned in concern. "Not really," the green-eyed teen admitted with a frustrated scowl, "Though not for lack of trying. I keep finding books that _look_ promising, but they've all had their endings torn out."

Charon shot the teen an inquisitive glance at that and Fakir elaborated, "Mostly I'm looking for ideas. I've been checking other stories for similar situations to see how they were resolved. Only with the endings being torn out there _is_ no resolution which effectively renders those books useless. It's incredibly frustrating." The smith sighed lightly, "It certainly sounds like it would be. I'm glad you aren't giving up simply because of the lack of progress, though." The young knight huffed lightly but didn't respond further. The older man didn't seem to realize that he _couldn't_ give up. Not only had he promised Mytho that he would save him, Ahiru was also counting on him to find a cure for the prince's condition or some other solution. He _refused_ to let either of them down!

Uzura ended up tagging along with the dark-haired teen when he left the house that morning and followed him all the way to the used bookstore. "Ah, if it isn't little Uzura," the old shop-keeper greeted with a broad grin when he spotted her before shooting the young man she was accompanying a sly look, "Are you going to get this boy to buy you another book today?" "She better not," Fakir grumbled. To his relief, the little puppet was more interested in asking the man questions than looking at books. The young knight smirked faintly in amusement as he walked away from the increasingly bemused old man and headed up the stairs to start his search. As the hours passed, his frustration started to mount as book after book he selected turned out to have their endings missing. Maybe early on he would have considered it a coincidence, but no longer. Someone had _deliberately_ been going around tearing endings out of these books. He doubted it was Kraehe. For all that she was well aware of his habits regarding research, deliberate vandalism like this wasn't her style. She'd have just stolen them. That made the situation even more worrying because it meant there was something else going on that he didn't know about; something that involved these books. If it weren't for the fact that he was under a time limit to find a way to help his friends he'd focus more on this new mystery, but that wasn't an option. 'Once the situation with Mytho and Ahiru is resolved,' Fakir vowed as he returned to browsing the shelves, 'I'll take the time to work out why all these stories have had their endings removed.'

The young knight lost all track of time as he continued his quest to find a solution to the whole situation affecting his friend. He was unaware of Uzura wandering off to explore around noon, having exhausted her questions for the shopkeeper, or the old man bustling about among the shelves checking his stock. All of his focus was directed to his research. Fakir set his most recent stack of books on a lectern in front of the window at the top of the stairs to the second floor and grabbed the top book to start flipping through it. The ending was intact, but regrettably the story itself was of no help. "Useless," he muttered as he set it on a nearby chair before moving on to the next book in the stack. This one _had_ had its ending removed, so he had no choice but to discard it as well. The same was true of the next two books in the stack and by the time he reached the last one he was praying it would just be a story that didn't help at all. All these books with torn out endings were starting to make his paranoia spike on top of the frustration. Of course, his anxiety hadn't been helped by the fact that, over the past two days, he occasionally felt as though someone were watching him. Every time he stopped to check to see who it was and tell them off he found no one nearby. It was extremely disconcerting. However, his prayer was denied as he reached the end and found the critical final pages were missing.

"Again," Fakir murmured in frustration, "The ending has been torn out." Abruptly, the feeling of being watched returned yet, just like every other time, there was nobody there when he looked. "Just my imagination," he wondered uneasily. He didn't have the chance to dwell on his unease, however, as a familiar drumming emitted from the stairs and he turned to look as Uzura scampered up. "Fakir," she called out. "What is it," The young knight inquired. The little puppet looked puzzled as she asked, "What does it mean that it's nice for Ahiru to be love-love in school-zura?" Fakir gaped at her the second Ahiru's name game up and tensed at the word love. "Ahiru," he demanded, "With whom?" The green-haired puppet blinked up at him in confusion with a soft coo and he had to fight down a surge of embarrassment as he realized just how jealous he sounded. The young man looked away as he muttered, "Ah, no… Never mind." 'It's not like I even _like_ her that way,' he grumbled internally. The little girl was unaware of the effect her question had on the dark-haired teen, though. She wanted an answer, and scowled up at him as she demanded, "What does it mean-zura?!" "I don't know," the increasingly flustered teen shot back.

That was not an acceptable answer as far as Uzura was concerned and she immediately started beating rapidly on her drum in a small tantrum as she protested, "Don't hide it from me-zura!" "Hey," the young knight whipped around the second she started making a racket, "Stop that!" However, he didn't react in time to keep from irritating another customer. "Could you please be quiet," an irritated young man's voice demanded from the floor below. "Yeah," Fakir called back as he gripped both of the little puppet's hands to stop her from playing that blasted instrument of hers, "I'm sorry." He then turned his attention back to the petulant face of the child-like puppet as she stared up at him. "Look," he muttered quietly, "You can't be so loud in here. It's rude." "But I want to know what it means-zura," she whined.

Fakir sighed heavily as he knelt down to look the little puppet in the eyes, "I really don't know. Where did you even hear about something like that, anyways?" "I heard two birds talking-zura," Uzura chirped. Talking animals meant either one of the anthropomorphic townsfolk, or students had been gossiping; which the little girl had overheard. Most likely it was a pair of students since it had been about Ahiru. "I don't think I want to know," he grumbled. Most gossip, in his experience, was pointless drivel and was also often completely wrong. To his annoyance, the green-haired puppet misunderstood his statement as an expression of interest and started to tell him what she had overheard. "Someone gave Ahiru a flower," she repeated cheerfully, "and they said she would go well together with that person-zura! I asked them what that was and they said it was love-love-zura! So I asked them if Ahiru was love-love and they said it would be good if she were-zura!"

Personally, the young knight wasn't comfortable with the idea of his red haired friend having feelings for _anyone_ aside from _maybe_ Mytho. Yet this sounded like fairly generic schoolyard gossip to him which was enough for him to conclude the only fact was that someone had given the blue-eyed girl a flower. The rest was pure conjecture. "They didn't know what they were talking about either," the Fakir told the little puppet firmly as he picked her up to carry her out of the store. "Eh," Uzura blinked up at him in confusion. "Look," he sighed as he headed down the stairs, "They were gossiping about something they heard about. Most gossip only has one or two true things in it while the rest is made up to make the topic sound more interesting. You can't take it seriously." "So Ahiru _isn't_ love-love-zura," the little girl asked. "Probably not," Fakir replied as he reached the door before he sighed, "Really, things are never easy with you…"

He would have continued lecturing her when he was startled by a sudden mass of large creatures thundering passed mostly obscured by a cloud of dust and instinctively turned to shield Uzura. He looked up a few moments later and gaped as he caught sight of the tail end of a herd of stampeding bulls racing down the street. "What the hell," the young knight wondered as he watched them disappear into the distance before frowning slightly. It wasn't normal for bulls to run through the middle of town, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious about what was going on. "Come on," he muttered to the little puppet as he started to sprint after them. The green-haired puppet cooed in excitement as she clung to Fakir's shirt for he had not set her down before taking off. It wasn't too hard to trail them. Even with the story acting as a blinder in some ways, a herd of bulls running through the streets wasn't something the townsfolk could ignore. He just had to follow the line of confused faces lining the road. He soon realized they were heading straight for the theater and, when he glanced up, noticed the building had a full conspiracy of ravens swarming over the roof. "Not good," he muttered. The Raven Prince and Princess must have found a new victim. Hopefully, he'd get there in time to help out if Ahiru hadn't made it already.

Fakir arrived at the theater to find the ravens had dispersed meaning that, whatever had happened, was likely over. He was a bit concerned by that, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The herd was milling about aimlessly in front of the building lowing in confusion; they seemed just as confused as to what they were doing there as the other people who had been attracted by the stampede were. The young man was mildly annoyed to find a handful of the other townsfolk milling about among the herd idly wondering what all these bulls were doing in the middle of town. 'They ignore the anthropomorphic animals and the increasing number of ravens _in spite_ of the fact that the last time their numbers spiked _people died_ ,' the teen grumbled as he finally set Uzura down and she promptly disappeared into the crowd of bovines with a giggle, 'And it's the freaking _bulls_ of all things that they comment on. I _really_ hate this story…' Admittedly, he was just as confused but at least he _knew_ the other stuff wasn't normal or was worth being concerned over.

"Why are these bulls…," the young man wondered under his breath as he paused in front of the steps up to the theater. The little puppet was elated, of course, and had clambered her way up onto the back of one of the animals shortly after vanishing into the crowd of bovines. "This is cool-zura," she exclaimed breathlessly, "There are lots-zura!" Fakir was more focused on trying to what had happened and what these bulls could have possibly had to do with it, but glanced up as the little girl suddenly observed, "Ah, it's Ahiru-zura." Sure enough, the red-head was walking out of the building scratching her head with a vaguely puzzled look on her face. The young knight felt some of the tension he'd felt at the sight of the ravens and their sudden dispersal ease a bit seeing that she wasn't upset. She must have managed to save whoever the intended victim had been this time on her own. Ahiru noticed him shortly after he noticed her and her eyes widened in surprise as she called out his name in greeting, "Fakir!" She jogged over to where he was standing as he inquired uneasily, "Did something happen?" He was still a bit concerned after all.

Ahiru's response was irritatingly vague as she smiled up at him, "Ah, no. It kinda feels like something happened, but also like it kind of didn't… I don't really get it myself…" The young knight scowled in annoyance at how unhelpful an explanation that was and looked away as he grumbled, "What is that supposed to mean?" His frustration spiked slightly at the sheepish laugh his red haired friend gave before she suddenly cut herself off and started speaking again, "Hey, Fakir?" Fakir couldn't entirely keep the irritation out of his voice as he half turned to look back at he and replied tersely, "What?" He swore his heart leapt up into his throat and his breath caught her next actions. Slowly, with a soft smile on her face, she closed her eyes and performed the ballet mime for love… _at him_. It took every last scrap of self-control he had to keep himself from blushing furiously as he stammered awkwardly, "Wh-What are you doing that for all of a sudden?!" He was barely able to hear her response over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears as she released the pose, "Mytho did that same thing before." He started to calm down at that and listened intently as she continued, "I don't know why he did it, but that was the real Mytho, right?"

He was surprised to feel a surge of disappointment as he realized she was just demonstrating something she had seen. 'But it's _Ahiru_ ,' he denied furiously, 'We're just friends! I shouldn't care about who she likes or doesn't like, much less if that person is _me_!' He was snapped out of his half-panicked thoughts by Uzura's sudden question, "Ahiru is love-love with Mytho-zura?" "What," Ahiru blinked in surprised confusion. "Mind your own business, Uzura," Fakir scolded secretly relieved for the distraction she provided. "What is she talking about," the red-head asked curiously. The young knight cursed internally as his heart started racing again at how adorable her confused look was, but didn't let on as he replied, "Uzura heard two birds gossiping about how someone gave you a flower earlier and how apparently you would be a perfect couple with whoever it was. It ended up getting her started on the topic of love."

The blue-eyed girl blinked before a vaguely ill look suddenly crossed her face, "Oh…that… No. Just…no…" "Are you okay," Fakir gave her a concerned frown. "Just…the thought of that guy… So weird…," she mumbled vaguely. "Hey, Ahiru," the young knight stepped forward and shook her shoulder lightly, "Snap out of it!" Ahiru started suddenly, "Ah! Sorry! I'm sorry!" "Just tell me what happened," he asked firmly. "Eh, today was just really strange," the red-haired ballerina admitted before starting to speak rapidly, "There was this guy from the apprentice class who is really weird. He was saying strange things about how he deserved to be a prince and couldn't give his love to any one girl. And he kept following me around, giving me flowers, and saying all these weird things to me so I kept running away! Then I saw him leave campus with Rue-chan and I followed them because I was worried. And then I saw the ravens so I knew she was probably trying to take his heart! Only when I got there and tried to break her spell he started freaking out about how he couldn't choose between the two of us before he got trampled by a bunch of bulls!"

Fakir stared at her blankly as he struggled to keep up with her rambling while simultaneously making sense of what she said. After she stopped talking he was silent a few moments longer as he finished working through everything she'd said. Part of that silence was due to the fact that he had to fight down yet another flicker of jealousy over this random guy blatantly flirting with _his_ little duck girl…and wondering why the hell he kept thinking of her as being 'his' before finally admitting, "Strange is the right word to use. So the reason you looked ill earlier…" "Femio-san is really freaky," Ahiru blurted with a shudder, "I don't like him!" The young knight was somewhat surprised that it was actually _possible_ for the diminutive ballerina to not like somebody and stated as much which got him an annoyed scowl in return. "I don't like _everyone_ ," she grumbled. "Could have fooled me," Fakir teased lightly. The red-head pouted at him and his heart-rate spiked _again_ in response to how cute she looked. His body's reactions to his female friend – not to mention these flickers of jealousy – were starting to bother him. He didn't _like_ her like _that_ …right?

 **A/N:** Not as long as some of my recent chapters, but not bad over all. To be honest, I had a hard time coming up with things for him to do off screen and I am also not the best at hinting at romantic themes. I tried, but I have doubts about how well I pulled it off. Thank god I can stop with the hints as of the end of the next chapter… The other hints at future developments I felt worked much better. Fakir knows something weird is going on, after all. He just doesn't have the time to spare to pay much attention to it…which is unfortunate considering what is coming up… Those who have watched the show know what I'm taking about and can probably guess what those hints were referring to. Not telling what it is; spoilers and all for those who have yet to see the show. Seriously, though, why are you still reading this if you haven't watched it _all_ yet?! Do it! Now! Spread the word! Give this series the recognition it deserves! The Darth Vader plushie commands you! See you all next chapter!


	19. The Ghost Knight

**A/N:** Excuse me for a moment while I squeal in sheer glee. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Gah, I love this episode so much! Drama! Fakir angst! Fakir _dancing! Ahiru being_ _ **cute**_! SQEEEEEEEEEEE! I'm okay. Just needed to get that out of my system. This really is one of my favorite episodes, though. Heck, we're getting into my favorite part of the season! Also, I just love Fakir-centric episodes because favorite character. Why do you think I'm writing this?! Aside from the blatant excuse to write friendship fluff and other types of fluff that is… I enjoy fluff! Off topic a bit, but you would not believe how much listening to the soundtrack to Final Fantasy IX helps me write. I thought listening to classical music helped, but FFXI is proving to be _way_ more effective at keeping me focused. Love that game… It may not be the best in the franchise, and isn't even my first Final Fantasy (that was VII). Yet it is _definitely_ my favorite. I wonder if I can manage to write a FFIX/ Princess Tutu crossover… How would that even work? Hmmm… Must ponder this… Anyways, it's time to get started with the chapter. Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I still don't own Princess Tutu and I am amazed at how much variety I am managing to add to these disclaimers. I normally run out of ideas for what to add to them by now. Such is the power of this anime…

Chapter 19: The Ghost Knight

 _The young knight charged through the misty forest on the back of his faithful steed – intent on reaching his destination. A challenge from an enemy knight had come, and his duty would not allow him to deny it. Soon, he arrived at the clearing the two knights had agreed upon as their battleground and he reined his horse to a stop as he waited for the challenger to arrive. He did not wait long, for moments later his enemy appeared. An observer would note that the two knights were very different as they gazed at each other from across the clearing. The younger was unarmored, clad in black clothing, with a hooded dark brown cloak pulled over his head, and sitting astride a brown horse. His challenger was clad in full armor, was taller and bulkier, and sat astride a white stallion. It would seem that the younger knight faced a heavy disadvantage in the fight to come, but he would not back down. He was no coward. The two knights did not watch each other for long, and suddenly spurred their steeds forward almost simultaneously to attack. The sudden forward movement caught the young knight's hood and pulled it back to reveal his intense green eyes, and dark green hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck._

 _As they drew near to each other, the knights started to swing their blades; the challenger in silence, and the young knight with a guttural cry. Their blades clashed harshly. The battle was on. Again and again they struck, each balancing their search for an opening with the challenge of controlling their mounts. The larger knight swung for the younger knight's head, but the young man just managed to pull back enough that the only injury he suffered was a shallow cut across his cheek. Furiously, the dark-haired youth countered with a vicious strike yet his challenger caught it on his blade. Their mounted duel continued until, finally, the young knight spotted his opening just as his enemy lunged forward in another charge. He thrust his blade forward with a harsh grunt and buried it deep in the taller knight's chest! His eyes widened in surprise as his sword sunk in practically to the hilt and everything in the clearing seemed to flash rapidly. His sword in the other man's chest. The visor of his enemy's helmet. And the distant cawing of ravens…_

Fakir's eyes snapped open with a strangled gasp as his dream ended, and slowly sat up with a shaky breath. He was trembling faintly as he brought his hand up to his face and murmured, "Just now…what was that?! Did I really just…dream that I killed somebody?!" Another shudder ran through him as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm himself down by taking slow, deep breaths. To be fair, he _had_ been willing to kill for the sake of protecting Mytho and, to be honest, he still was. Yet he had never _dreamed_ of the act of taking another's life before and it had him rattled. It hadn't felt good. If anything the sensation left him feeling disgusted with himself. Fakir eventually started to calm down from the residual horror and disbelief that nightmare had left him with and slowly opened his eyes. While nightmares were a normal part of his nights, this one was different from the others. Recently, his nightmares had featured alternate outcomes of certain events that usually resulted in people dying because of his own perceived failures; usually Ahiru or Mytho, but sometimes he was the one who died and then the nightmares would get worse… Oddly enough, it was the dreams where the red-haired ballerina perished that bothered him the most. This most recent nightmare, though, was the first one where the horror came from the fact that he had _succeeded_ at something rather than because of his failure. It was strange.

With a heavy sigh, the young knight stood and walked over to his window and looked out at the mist shrouded night streets. Perhaps it was because of the lingering remnants of his nightmare, but he could almost swear he heard the faint sound of galloping hooves pounding across the stone streets. Could the knight he'd dreamed of be out there somewhere? Considering how many strange and fantastical things his life already featured he couldn't fully claim that such a thing was impossible. There could be _something_ hopelessly wandering those misty streets. Something that had reached out to him through his dreams… "Ridiculous," he muttered to himself dismissively as he turned to go back to bed although he couldn't quite shake off the feeling of unease the faint sound inspired. Fakir needed to at least try to get some more sleep, though. Tomorrow his suspension would be over and he would be free to return to campus. He was both anticipating and dreading it. The anticipation because it meant he wouldn't be forced to rely on Ahiru for updates about what was going on anymore, but could actively participate again. The dread because the red-head's reports indicated Mytho had deteriorated rapidly over the week he'd been gone and was now almost unrecognizable as the same person to those who knew him well. The young man wasn't looking forward to seeing just how much his best friend had changed with his own eyes. The dark-haired young man sighed again as he lay back down and closed his eyes. Hopefully, his remaining dreams would be somewhat pleasant…

Depending on one's definition of pleasant, one could say that his hopes were fulfilled for the remainder of his dreams involved Ahiru. The problem was these dreams often woke him up out of sheer embarrassment because she'd started kissing him lightly on the corner of his mouth at the end…and his dream self wasn't pulling away. He was seriously starting to wonder if his subconscious was trying to tell him something and wasn't sure he wanted to know what the message was. The end result was that, when he woke up to get ready for school the next morning, the dark-haired young man was still tired. Not as tired as he had been prior to the incident in the underground lake, but he definitely wished he could have grabbed an extra hour of sleep. Fakir winced slightly as the sound of Uzura's drumming sounded from the hall; it seemed his tired brain wasn't as effective at tuning out the annoying noise as it was when it was rested. Now he was _really_ looking forward to going back to the Academy if only because it meant he might get a break from that blasted drum for a few hours!

The young knight groaned slightly as he got out of bed and got changed into his uniform before checking the cord holding back his hair. Sometimes it loosened while he slept. That taken care of he headed downstairs for breakfast. "Good morning, Fakir," Charon greeted from over his cup of morning tea. "Morning," the drowsy teen replied before pouring his own cup. He needed the caffeine. The young man ate quickly and quietly seeing as he had a long walk to reach campus on time ahead of him. The smith had set out his school books on the corner of the table closest to the door, so all he had to do once he finished eating was grab them and head out. "I'm off," Fakir stated as he tucked his books under his arm. "Take care," the older man replied with a smile.

Fakir tensed slightly as he approached the main gates; his feelings of foreboding had returned with a vengeance. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before closing his eyes in resignation as he passed through the gates. There was no point in trying to avoid whatever it was that was giving him a bad feeling. Knowing his luck it would end up finding him regardless. It was best to face whatever it was head on. His eyes remained shut as he approached the Main Hall; he'd walked up and down the causeway so many times he didn't have to watch where he was going. Even the steps leading up to the doors were no trouble. It wasn't until after he entered the building that he opened them at the sound of a familiar voice tinged with malice greeting him casually, "Hello."

A soft, startled noise escaped him as he stopped and looked up to see his white-haired friend standing before him with his arms spread in a welcoming gesture. To anyone else it would have appeared genuine, but the other teen's eyes were still tinted red. That alone made it clear to the young knight that it was the raven who was speaking, and that what was coming was not going to be pleasant. "I'm glad that you're back, Fakir," the false Mytho lied as he started walking towards where the taller teen stood stiffly, "I've been waiting for you." Fakir tensed as the raven-controlled young man wrapped his arms around him in a loose hug, but didn't show any other reaction to how uncomfortable he was with the situation. "Why did you come back," the raven asked him in a quietly threatening tone as the female students looking on squealed in excitement. "I'll protect Mytho," the young knight whispered back as he stared straight ahead, "That's all."

The false Mytho laughed quietly at that before murmuring mockingly, "Protect him? How? What can you do? A knight who couldn't even die…" A faint, pained grunt slipped out of the dark-haired young man, but the raven possessing his friend wasn't finished, "The knight's role in the story was to be torn in two and die, but not only were you saved in such a disgraceful manner, you've got the nerve to _still_ be alive… You've no purpose in this story anymore." Fakir gave an almost imperceptible flinch at that before starting to tremble faintly in pain, sorrow, and anger as the Raven Prince finished, "Now you just have to be forgotten…" The white-haired youth gave the distraught teen a falsely friendly slap on the shoulder as he stepped back and turned to walk away with a mocking, "Welcome back, Fakir. I'm happy to have you here again."

The young knight swallowed hard and forced himself to continue forwards without showing just how much those words had hurt. He knew it wasn't Mytho who was in control – that it wasn't his best friend saying such cruel things – but that didn't change the fact that it was still _his_ face and _his_ voice saying them. It was a heart-breaking experience no matter how you looked at it. 'Ahiru did say he had changed,' the dark-haired youth conceded with a pained sigh, 'So it's not as though I wasn't warned. I knew I would be facing an attack of some sort at some point and that it would hurt. I just wasn't expecting it to come so soon…' Fakir endured the wary looks being thrown his way and the whispered gossip stoically as he walked across the campus towards the main lecture hall. It's not as though their opinions mattered to him. So long as the people he actually cared about still believed in him that was all he needed…or so he kept telling himself. In truth, the false Mytho's verbal attack had damaged his resistance to such things enough that the other students' reactions to his presence stung a bit. He did _not_ have a good feeling about how the rest of his day was going to play out. The young knight closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in resolve; he wasn't going to retreat just because of a bunch of ignorant students had fallen for the ravens' deception. He knew the truth, and so he could persevere regardless of the words and looks thrown his way. If the Raven Prince was trying to get rid of him, he was going to have to work _much_ harder than this.

Fakir's ruminations had carried him to the doors of the lecture hall and he was about to enter when he heard Ahiru call his name. The dark-haired teen halted and looked over as she ran up to him eagerly waving. He was seriously starting to wonder if it was even possible for her to not look cute. It was growing to be incredibly distracting. "Good morning," the red head chirped as she stopped next to him with a bright smile on her face. The young knight looked down at her passively as he asked, "What's with you, this early in the morning?" He learned from one of their conversations over the past week that the girl was _not_ a morning person, so this level of energy and enthusiasm was a bit odd. Ahiru held out a roughly bound text to him as she started rambling, "Well, I was wondering, do you like plays, Fakir? See, ballet is dancing, right, but there's story to it and stuff, you know. So it's kind of like a play or something…" "What are you trying to say," the young knight sighed. He hadn't had nearly enough sleep to be up to making sense of his red-haired friend's confused words.

"See, the people from the Drama Club said they wanted you to perform a ballet part in their play," the diminutive ballerina explained as she lowered the text before abruptly looking up at him eagerly, "So read this script!" He glanced down at the cover as she held it up again and could not hold back the faint gasp that slipped out of him at the picture emblazoned on it. 'What the…,' he wondered uneasily, 'That knight…from my dream? This can't be a coincidence… Just what is going on?!' Ahiru didn't notice his reaction as she continued trying to persuade him, "I mean, if you join clubs and stuff it'll be easier for you to come to school, don't you think? Really, I want you to stay close to Mytho as much as you can, so…" Fakir stared down at her silently before looking away. He appreciated that she was trying to help, but it was entirely unnecessary. His duty as a knight wouldn't allow him to abandon his corrupted friend which made staying nearby a necessity; even if it meant he'd be forced to endure more of the Raven Prince's mockery. Plus there was the matter of that _knight_ …

Finally, the blue-eyed girl noticed something was off about her older friend and looked up at him with concern, "Fakir?" "I don't need you to tell me to do that," the young knight bit out harshly. Ahiru was not deterred and, before he could react, stuck the script under his arm with a cheerful, "Well then, I'll leave it to you, then! Good luck!" She then ran off as the green-eyed young man gaped after her. "Hey," he called, "Wait up!" The flighty red-head had already ducked into another door and a soft sigh escaped the exasperated teen as he stared at where she had vanished. Sometimes she listened to him, and sometimes she didn't. He wished she would be more consistent about that. Not to mention she hadn't even waited for him to say yes or no about the whole play thing. Fakir pulled out the script she had shoved upon him and scowled down at it. The young man was leaning heavily towards refusing before the thought of her disappointed face drifted across his mind and he flinched. 'Am I really so pathetic that even the thought of disappointing her is enough to make me feel like a failure,' the dark-haired teen wondered agitatedly as he shoved the script in with the rest of his school books. How was it that she had so much influence over his actions these days?! She didn't even have to _try_! Of course, then he thought about how _happy_ the blue-eyed girl would be over his going along with this and felt a rush of contentment. Perhaps it wouldn't be a _complete_ waste of his time…he'd at least look over the script when he had a chance.

Classes passed more or less uneventfully aside from a few incidents with the raven couple. Kraehe had mostly just stood on the sidelines and shot smug looks his way without actually talking to him. She didn't have to do much more, for the false Mytho had taken every opportunity he could to direct subtle verbal attacks disguised as concerned statements his way. Fakir, naturally, had not taken them very well and masked the pain caused by the remarks by glaring darkly at the white-haired teen. Of course, the impression it gave the _other_ students was that the dark-haired young man was being a complete jerk in response to his 'friend's' efforts to reach out. Yet again, it appeared that he was the one in the wrong. At least _this_ time he didn't do anything that would result in his being suspended for a second time…or possibly expelled. The malachite eyed teen wasn't about to discount that as a possible consequence of further perceived infractions on his part.

Fakir made sure to keep his temper tightly under control regardless of _how_ strong the temptation to lash out against his tormentors became. There was a plus side to his ruthless self-control. By the time classes let out both the Raven Princess and her corrupted Prince were visibly annoyed by their failure to get rid of him as they left. The young knight considered that to be a victory, small as it was, and felt his mood improve slightly. It wasn't enough to completely dispel his growing feelings of inadequacy from a full day of what basically amounted to psychological torture, but it was still _something_. After the raven couple left, Fakir didn't leave campus immediately. Instead, he retreated to the Main Hall common room to look over the script Ahiru had given him. He could have checked it out over lunch break, but he'd chosen to resume his extra practice sessions instead; mostly for the sake of appearances. Ballet practice was rapidly dropping through his priorities list in spite of how much he enjoyed it.

For all that his _intent_ was to read the script, marshalling up the will to actually look at it was proving a bit more difficult than Fakir expected. The fact that the knight from his dream was on the cover still made him uneasy. The dark-haired young man left the script on the table, sat back, and started to reflect on just _why_ it bothered him so much. He supposed part of it was because it indicated there might be more to that nightmare he'd had last night. His dream-self had _killed_ the man for crying out loud! That _wasn't_ something he was likely to get over any time soon! It _could_ just be a coincidence, but he honestly doubted it. His life just wasn't that simple. The young knight sighed heavily as his mind drifted away from the play and to his possessed friend. He had changed so much in such a short span of time… It worried him.

What if there was a _reason_ his research had failed to uncover a cure for the taint afflicting him? What if there was no way to return him to normal, after all? He would never accept that as an outcome, but still his natural inclination towards pessimism made him doubt his chances for success. Then there had been the false Mytho's words over the course of the day…most notably his initial verbal assault just within the threshold of the Main Hall. Those words, in particular, had been haunting him all day. Did he really no longer have any purpose within the events of the story? Was there truly no point to his presence? The young man _had_ been questioning his effectiveness as a knight for a while and had even confessed as much to the true Mytho while he'd been recovering from his injuries. Back then, the other teen had reassured him that he was far from useless, but he'd had a hard time believing it. Now the Raven Prince had attacked those doubts directly and – even though he _knew_ the possessed teen only said those things because he knew how much it would hurt – it didn't mean there couldn't be some truth to them.

He started to fall back into a familiar melancholy as he continued to reflect on the matter. These days he spent so much time in such a mood that it was starting to feel almost natural to him. 'What use is my sword in fighting off the corruption taking over Mytho,' he mused bitterly, 'I can't cut it out of him, and it's not the sort of thing I can fight with words either. Worse, my research has been completely useless… The more I think about it…the more I feel that raven may have been right about me after all. All that remains for me…is to fade ever further from relevance…' "Mr. Fakir," Mr. Katze's voice snapped the young man out of his ruminations. Fakir blinked in surprise before turning to look back at the feline instructor, "Mr. Katze!" "You needn't worry so much," the anthropomorphic feline offered consolingly as he walked over, "Bad blood between people has a way of fading over time." The malachite eyed teen was confused momentarily before it occurred to him that the cat man had most likely noticed how coldly the rest of the students continued to treat him. At least _someone_ on campus, aside from Ahiru, didn't believe he deserved such treatment.

As the feline came to a stop next to the table the young knight was sitting at, he glanced down and noticed the script on the table and smiled. "Oh, are you considering a club activity," the teacher observed, "That's excellent." The dark haired young man glanced over as the anthropomorphic feline started to muse out loud over the virtue of such things, "Boys and girls working together towards a goal and letting their wild nature flow free. From that comes new meetings, then eventually love blooms, and marriage!" A soft sigh slipped out of the young knight as his eyes closed in half-hearted irritation at Mr. Katze's thoughts inevitably drifting back to his obsession. His depression had such a firm grip that it was hard for him to feel much of anything else. Fakir heard a soft meow escape the cat-man as he snapped back into reality before he continued, "Anyway, it is important to get yourself involved in something positive." The feline instructor turned to leave and it occurred to the teen that, delusional as the man could sometimes be, perhaps his fixation on love and marriage could be an asset for once. "Mr. Katze," the young knight asked quietly as he slid his eyes back open and he heard the cat man stop. "What is it," the feline replied without looking back. "So you thinks it's possible to turn a love that has been tainted back to normal," the dark-haired youth inquired softly.

"That is a difficult problem," Mr. Katze admitted before musing, "What even is a 'tainted' love?" "What," the young knight wondered as he turned to look at his teacher in confusion. He hadn't expected the man to counter his question with another question. "Who can say that Odile's love was tainted," the anthropomorphic feline mused thoughtfully. "What does that…," Fakir started to inquire before the feline instructor walked out of the room without another word. He recognized the name Odile as the name of a character from the Swan Lake ballet. She had been the black swan who seduced the prince away from Odette at Von Rothbart's bidding. He just didn't know what her character had to do with his question. Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask the cat man such a thing… If he didn't go on a tangent about marriage he brought in vague ballet references instead. He sighed quietly as he let the matter go for the moment. Dwelling on it wasn't helping anything, and he still had to make up his mind about the play Ahiru wanted him to participate in. The dark-haired young man turned his attention back to the script on the table at long last. He had stalled long enough.

Reluctantly, he picked the roughly bound text up and opened it to start reading before a soft gasp escaped him as he read the first paragraph. A feeling of familiarity, of connection, had shot through him as he read and he realized exactly what this play _was_. His eyes widened in disbelief as he murmured, "This is…about the knight I fought in my dream." Onward he read and, as the story unfolded on the pages before him, the more conflicted he felt. He could empathize, to a degree, with the knight's character as far as his devotion to carrying out his duties were concerned. The difference was that the knight in the play had clearly never regretted anything he had done while Fakir _had_. The man in the play was so blinded by his pride that he committed terrible acts for the sake of his sworn liege and in the end they had been so bad that his king had turned on him. Regardless of how he felt about the knight's character, the story of the play was surprisingly gripping. Thus it was extremely frustrating for him to find that it was unfinished. 'Where the hell is the rest of the play,' Fakir wondered as he flipped back through the script, 'Why would Ahiru give me only part of the script?' He sighed in annoyance, and stood to go find the girl and ask. It hadn't taken him all that long to finish reading the script, so she was most likely still on campus somewhere. 'Since she wants me to do this play,' the young knight concluded, 'My best bet is probably to check in the drama building and _this time_ I actually have a legitimate excuse to be looking around.'

With the roughly bound text still tucked under his arm, he left the Main Hall and headed for the building the drama school was based in. The young man didn't encounter anyone on his way over, or when he entered the building which suited him just fine. He wasn't searching long before he spotted an open door which he could faintly hear a familiar voice mumbling to itself; he'd found Ahiru. The dark-haired teen wasted no time heading over and called out to her the second he reached the door, "Hey!" The red head stifled a startled quack and slammed both hands over her mouth before she turned to look at him as he walked in. "Fakir," she exclaimed once she realized who it was, "You came!" "Where's the rest of this script," Fakir asked as he held the text up. The diminutive ballerina looked up at him in confusion, "Huh? The rest?" "It ends in the middle," he clarified while looking down at the script in vague irritation. "It does," the blue-eyed girl wondered and the young knight snapped his head up to stare at her in disbelief. "What," he asked incredulously before sighing in exasperated realization as he started walking off to the side, "You pushed a script on me you hadn't even read?"

"Ah," Ahiru babbled awkwardly, "But everyone said that it would be a perfect role for you…" Fakir scoffed quietly as he half-turned to look back at his red-haired friend, "A ghost knight is perfect for me, huh?" The diminutive ballerina's eyes widened as she asked, "Ghost knight? What kind of story is it?" The young man looked down at the script in his hand contemplatively as he thought about what to tell her. It certainly wasn't a pleasant story. In fact, it was a tragedy no matter how you looked at it. He decided to give her a brief overview and started to speak, "He was hailed as the strongest of knights and enemy nations all feared him. The knight believed that it was his duty to protect the king even if it cost him his life. He even killed his own lover, who was an enemy spy, without hesitation. Eventually the two kingdoms made peace, but the knight was tragically exiled from his country. After that, the knight – knowing not whom to protect or whom to defeat – died, yet continued to wander. The story ends there." "That's kind of a sad story, isn't it," the blue eyed girl observed. In truth, it was far worse than she knew for the dark-haired teen had sanitized it heavily.

Any response he would have made, however, was cut off by a darkly amused giggle from the door and both teens turned sharply to look for they recognized that laugh. "It's an amusing story," the disguised Raven Princess stated with a cold smile. "Rue-chan," Ahiru gasped. Somehow, Fakir was not surprised anymore by the red-head's instance on continuing to treat the raven as a friend. She really was far to forgiving for her own good. "A knight who wanders around unable to do anything," Kraehe mused mockingly, "That really does suit you perfectly, Fakir." The young knight scowled as she walked away with yet another giggle; those ravens just would not stop _picking_ at that point and it was getting on his nerves. He _knew_ he wasn't the best knight and he wished they would stop _focusing_ on that! "Rue-chan," the diminutive ballerina called out as she ran over to the door. The green-eyed youth really could not understand why she kept trying to reach out to the Raven's Daughter. It didn't make any sense. He sighed and closed his eyes as the red-haired ballerina ran out of the room. No doubt the raven was already long gone, so she was doomed to be disappointed if she was hoping to catch her.

Fakir heard another female voice call out to his friend, but didn't bother opening his eyes and wasn't really paying attention to what they said. Between the play and the ravens' harassment he had enough on his mind. It wasn't until he was directly addressed that he looked over at the club leader, "Um, thank you for coming." The young knight made a soft, noncommittal noise in response as he allowed his gaze to sweep passively over the girls gathered around him. They seemed both amazed and intimidated by his presence which wasn't all that unexpected. He generally seemed to have that effect on most girls, though _why_ that was often puzzled him. Ahiru was the exception as she just acted like her normal self. He liked that about her. "Um, so are you willing to perform in our play," the lead girl asked uncertainly. "I'd like to see the rest of the script before I make up my mind," Fakir admitted with a sharp glance towards his red-haired friend, "The copy Ahiru gave me is incomplete." "Eh," the leader blinked in surprise before nodding slowly, "Oh, of course! Follow me. It's in this cabinet."

She led the young man over to a cabinet standing against the far wall and opened it before pulling out a yellowed, damaged text. "This is the original," she said as she held it out to him, "There's no record of when it was written or by whom." The young knight reached out to take it, but the second his hand came in contact with the old script the events of his nightmare flashed rapidly before his eyes. A soft, choked gasp escaped him as he pulled his hand back and stared uneasily down at the text. If he'd had any doubts left that this play had a connection to his dream from the night before they were officially dispelled. He vaguely heard another of the girls in the circle telling Ahiru about how they found the script, but – yet again – he wasn't really paying attention. 'Why,' Fakir wondered as his paranoia started to spike, 'Why did I dream about this play last night? What is going on?' He was starting to suspect that the only way he'd find out was if he participated in the play. His focus snapped back to the conversation going on around him as he made up his mind to go through with it just in time to hear the girls talking about a rumor. "The ghost knight," one of the girls had just stated uneasily as he tuned back in. "It's impossible for a story to come true," one of the other girls exclaimed. 'If only you knew,' he mused sardonically. "But it will be good publicity for our play, won't it," the lead girl inquired with a smile at the girl who had just spoken. He'd heard enough.

"I… I just have to dance the role of the ghost knight, right," the young man asked quietly as he continued to stare at the original script. "You'll help us out then," the lead girl asked him eagerly. He didn't bother responding and instead clenched the hand that had briefly come in contact with the old text in concertation before raising it up in front of him. The young knight didn't even register Ahiru encouraging him to do his best as his mind started to drift again. 'I don't know what's going on,' Fakir admitted to himself as he stared at his clenched fist before slowly opening it, 'And honestly I have a bad feeling about all of this. I am getting so _tired_ of all these damned mysteries! First the problem with Mytho, then all those books missing there endings, and now this… Yet, one way or another, I _will_ find an answer! I swear it!' His eyes narrowed intensely at that last thought as he clenched his fist again tightly before relaxing it and allowing it to fall to his side. "How long do I have to learn the role," the dark-haired teen finally asked. "Well, the play itself isn't for another couple of weeks," the lead girl admitted, "Our first rehearsal is on Sunday, so you have the rest of the week to get the basics down." Clearly she didn't know him very well; by the end of the week he'd have the whole routine memorized.

Fakir chose to leave the original script behind when he left for home. He honestly got a bad feeling from it and would rather avoid the damned thing as much as possible. Besides, the incomplete copy he had was enough for him to learn the role, so it wasn't as though he _needed_ to study the original version. The connection between the play and his nightmare was still bothering him, though. More specifically, the fact that he'd dreamed about it at all when he'd no prior knowledge of the play's existence. The entire way back home, he simply could not stop thinking about it. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he only nodded vaguely when Charon greeted him before heading straight up to his room. Fakir scowled down at the script in his hand before tossing it on his bed and moving over to his window as he tried to organize his thoughts. The young knight stared out of it pensively as he continued to puzzle over this most recent mystery to enter his life. He knew for a fact that stories could become real. There was already one monstrous one influencing the town as it was. There was no reason the story in the play couldn't be trying to do so as well.

'There are rumors that the ghost knight from the play is wandering the town already,' the young man reflected uneasily, 'So it is entirely possible that his story could have awakened when it was discovered by those girls. That…isn't good…' Fakir chewed his lip anxiously as he acknowledged to himself that he was deeply worried to find another story active in Goldkrone. Yet he wasn't entirely sure specifically what it was about it that made him so uneasy. 'Why,' he wondered as he glanced back towards the script resting innocently on his bed, 'Why does this story worry me so much? The dream I had… Just what the hell…what was it trying to tell me?' From what he remembered there were only three major roles: the ghost knight, the king he had once served, and the knight's lover. For the knight to be wandering around town as a ghost, it would mean that his was the only one that was active. The knight's lover was already long dead by the time he'd perished and become a ghost, and the king was effectively irrelevant. That meant there was little danger of anyone being sucked in to fill the other two roles.

Yet the knight was still dangerous in his own right. In life, he'd been had been ruthlessly dedicated to doing his duty, but was now entirely without a purpose. He'd do _anything_ to find one again. Perhaps that was what bothered the dark haired young man so much. The ghost knight was open to manipulation and with the Raven Prince and Princess hanging around… Fakir shuddered to think at what purpose they could turn the phantom to. The knight was a liability. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about it without tracking down the ghost knight himself and he wasn't all that sure he was even capable of doing so. Not if the other knight didn't _want_ to be found.

That was the problem with ghosts. If they wished to remain elusive then they could simply fade out of reality until their pursuer moved on or gave up. The young knight sighed heavily as he muttered, "I'm thinking too hard again…" Knowing his luck, he'd encounter the ghost knight at some point and would be forced to deal with it then. Until that time, though, all he could really do was prepare and try not to have a nervous breakdown. Which meant he had to at least _try_ to stop dwelling on the matter as much. Sadly, that was likely to be far easier said than done. Fakir sighed heavily again as he turned to head downstairs for dinner. Perhaps Uzura's antics would be enough to distract him from this for a while. At least long enough for him to calm down a bit.

While his hopes regarding Uzura had not been in vain, his night was not a peaceful one. The nightmare from the night before repeated itself once more, and again at least once every night that week. Fakir started to become somewhat numb to the horror and disgust after a while yet the dream itself still troubled him. Aside from that, the rest of the week passed fairly uneventfully. The Raven Prince and Princess continued to give him a hard time every chance they could, but that was the sort of behavior he expected from them. The other students continued to treat him like a pariah, but that too was no surprise to the young knight. They didn't know enough of what was really going on to do otherwise. Ahiru was her normal self, and he continued to enjoy her antics though he never let on just how much. She and the little puppet were about the only things to dispel the melancholy the ravens' harassment triggered. After all, just because he _expected_ them to pick at his insecurities didn't mean he wasn't affected by it. It was psychological torture plain and simple, and the dark-haired young man was just as vulnerable as anyone else in spite of all the barriers he maintained.

The ravens had an unfair advantage, though. The raven controlling Mytho could bypass most of those barriers simply by virtue of the fact that it held the body of the green-eyed teen's best friend. The only person _closer_ to his heart than the prince was Ahiru, not that he was entirely aware of that. He suspected she had a greater hold on him than most, but hadn't bothered to consider why that was. The last time he'd even bothered thinking about his feelings for the girl had been at the start of his suspension, and they had grown considerably stronger since then. Yet he still did not notice the change that had taken place. He'd had other, more pressing concerns on his mind and still did. In between everything else going on that week, Fakir focused on both catching up on his missed school-work and memorizing the dance he had to perform as the ghost knight in the play. He also – somewhat in spite of himself – continued to brood over what the repeated nightmares meant. Finally, Sunday arrived…and the story of the ghost knight started to move into its final act.

The day before, Ahiru had informed her older friend that the drama club wanted their initial rehearsal to take place in the main lesson room at around one in the afternoon. Fakir figured it made sense since they probably wanted to see him run through the part at least once before tying in the others. Yet before he headed over, he stopped by the drama building to look at the original script once more. It still gave him a bad feeling, but the repeated nightmares had built up his tolerance considerably. He rested his hand on top of it as he wondered, 'The ghost knight, this script, and the dream that I had… Just how are they connected?' "Oh, there you are," he heard his red-haired friend suddenly call from the door and his eyes darted to the side as he drew his hand back. "Fakir," she informed him reproachfully, "Everyone's gathering already." "Okay," the dark-haired teen replied while turning to look at her, "I'll be there right away." He glanced back at the old text once more as he shut the cabinet before heading straight for the changing rooms to put on his practice clothes.

Once that was taken care of, Fakir made his way to the lesson room where the leader of the drama club waited with the rest of the girls. She was holding a prop sword which she held out to him as she stated, "We were hoping to see how much of the role you've learned before anything else. Would you mind giving us a demonstration?" "Fine," he replied shortly as he took the sword from her and grimaced faintly at the terrible balance. Practicing with the Lohengrin Sword had effectively _ruined_ him as far as tolerating lesser blades was concerned. "Is something wrong," the lead girl asked having noticed the faint look of disdain crossing his face. "Nothing," the young knight denied as he glanced up at her from the blade in his hand before informing her, "As soon as you all clear the floor I'll begin." The lead girl nodded in agreement before directing the rest of the club – and Ahiru who had come along to watch – to move off to the side. The diminutive ballerina shot him an encouraging smile as she mouthed, "Do your best." He nodded back stoically; as if he'd do anything less.

Fakir's expression tightened in concentration as he sunk into the starting position the dance required the very second the floor was clear. Then, he smoothly moved into the first form and proceeded to continue onwards just as gracefully. The movements outlined in the script required little conscious focus for him to perform by this point, and as he danced his mind drifted back to the puzzle of the ghost knight. 'Why would I dream about the ghost knight? Why,' he wondered agitatedly before a startling thought suddenly occurred to him, 'Did the ghost knight send them to me?' That was a possibility that hadn't occurred to him before and he considered it seriously as his dance continued. 'The knight who's lost sight of his place to die is seeking something from me,' the young knight mused uneasily as the moment his dream-self drove his sword through the phantom's chest flashed through his mind, 'Does it want me to give it a place to die? No… does it mean he intends to bring about _my_ death? It could be either… Yet…if it is the first one…that script is very old. His story has been without an ending for a very long time…'

The young man reflected on something Edel had once said to him that had struck him deeply at the time and now something he believed whole-heartedly, 'A story without an ending…is cruel. I cannot, in good conscience, allow it to suffer if there is something I can do to bring about some sort of ending. Yet…the dream would indicate that it wants to fall in combat to a worthy opponent and it will not make the fight easy. If I were to do this it would try to end my life even though I am trying to give it what it wants. I could die attempting this…' Fakir danced on as he pondered on whether he was truly willing to risk his life to end the ghost knight's suffering. 'I promised Mytho I would find a cure for the raven's blood infecting him,' he mused, 'But I haven't had any luck. Perhaps Ahiru would be more successful than I. She certainly has had more success in calling him back to who he once was than I have. Every time he sees her the raven's control falters. She still has a purpose in this story while I…I may not. Not unless I submit to the fate the story intends for me which I won't.'

The dark-haired teen moved into the final forms of his performance as his thoughts continued. 'So the story has no use for a knight who refuses to die,' Fakir conceded grimly, 'I have no intention of ending my resistance to that particular fate but…so long as I wield my sword on my prince's behalf I'm at risk. Whether I fight the ghost knight or not, my life is on the line so long as the tale of the Prince and the Raven continues. Considering that, I really don't have any reason to deny it the final battle it desires. So be it then. I will fight the ghost knight and do my utmost to give it the ending it desires…and if I _do_ end up perishing in the attempt…I can trust Ahiru to take care of Mytho on my behalf. She's had far more success at it than I have anyways. I'd be able to die free of regret.' As that final thought crossed his mind, so too did he draw the dance to a close as he kneeled on the floor, whipped the prop sword around as though he were about to plunge it through his own chest, and closed his eyes. The tip of the blade rested lightly on his breast as he held the final pose for a few moments before the watching club members started to applaud.

"That was wonderful," the lead girl exclaimed as he released the pose and stood up straight, "There's no doubt that this play will be a success!" "It's just as Miss Ahiru said," the other girls exulted gleefully, "Wasn't it?" Fakir's eyes flicked along the line of girls at the mention of Ahiru's name and he was surprised to note she wasn't there anymore. "Where's Ahiru," he asked curiously. The young knight wasn't worried so much as he was confused by her sudden absence. She'd never left in the middle of one of his dance routines before. The young man turned his attention to the sole _non-human_ circle member as she responded to his inquiry. "She went into town to do some shopping for us," the female python explained. "I see," the young knight replied passively. Considering it was the python who told him about it, she had probably been the one who was supposed to do the shopping. Snakes didn't have arms which would have made the task difficult to say the least. It would be just like Ahiru to offer to take on the task in her place.

Fakir glanced over towards the window as he mused over his friend's absence when a burst of lightning suddenly flashed across the sky. In that moment, the image of the ghost knight flashed across his mind's eye and a feeling of foreboding surged through him. 'What was that,' he wondered before his breath caught in his throat as another thought struck him, 'Could the ghost knight be moving? Ahiru! She doesn't know it's out there!' He didn't hear the lead girl asking him to join their club as a formal member. His fear for his red-haired friend's safety was surging out of control, and robbed him of the ability to focus on anything else. The worried young man let the prop sword fall from his hand as he decided he had to find the ghost knight before it found _her_. "I just remembered something I have to do," he muttered as he turned to leave. The discontented words of the rest of the club members didn't even register as he walked out of the room; he was still far too focused on his concern for Ahiru.

The second the young knight was out of their sight he immediately started to sprint for the changing rooms. He swiftly threw his uniform back on before darting out of the main ballet hall and making a bee-line for the campus gates. Aside from the threatening storm clouds, the sky over the campus grounds were clear yet – once he exited the Main Hall – he faltered slightly at the sight of a dense wall of fog that had engulfed the rest of the town. It ringed the entire campus, and yet not a wisp drifted across the borders separating the Academy grounds. There was nothing natural about its presense or behavior and only served to make him even more anxious. He took a deep breath and entered the fog bank. Fakir looked around warily as he walked through the disturbingly empty streets as his feelings of foreboding grew. "Why do I have such a bad feeling," he muttered uneasily, "Is it because of the play? No, is this the ghost knight's doing?" The anxious young man decided that now was not the time for caution and resumed his earlier sprint. Besides, he knew these streets well enough to find his way home. The dark-haired teen knew there would be no way to avoid a fight with the phantom, so his first action must be to fetch his sword and Parsival. That way their battle would be at least somewhat even.

The young knight threw open the front door the second he arrived home and raced for the stairs. "Fakir," Charon called after him in concern, "What's wrong?" "Ahiru's in danger," Fakir shot back and didn't wait for a reaction to his words. He wasn't sure how much time he had. The smith had long since repaired the black clothing that had been damaged by Kraehe's ravens, and the dark-haired young man knew he would probably need even the minimal amount of protection the built in padding provided. Yet again, he swiftly changed clothes before grabbing his cloak from the back of his dresser and throwing it on. Then he snatched up the Lohengrin Sword, buckled it on to his belt, raced back down the stairs, and headed straight for the stable. Parsival gave a friendly whicker at the sight of his master, but this time the young man didn't take the time to return the greeting. He hurriedly tacked up his faithful gelding and led the horse outside before mounting up. The worried teen then signaled his mount to slowly accelerate into a canter, and the equine immediately responded.

"Please let her be safe," Fakir prayed quietly as he guided his steed through the misty streets, "Please!" Soon he found the familiar streets had given way to a strange, dead forest. "The ghost knight must be near," he murmured as he urged Parsival onwards, "Knowing my luck Ahiru probably isn't far either." His concern for her surged and he called out, "Ahiru! Are you there?" "Ah," he heard her respond, "Fakir!" Relief surged through him once he realized she was safe and he reined the gelding to a halt as he reached where she was standing. The horse reared slightly and whinnied in protest at the sudden stop, but obeyed. The young knight wondered briefly at why he was so happy to find her unharmed as he looked down at the girl, but disregarded it the second she spoke, "Just now, the ghost knight…" "You saw him," he demanded softly. "Yeah," Ahiru nodded with a frightened look on her face before promptly continuing, "And he might be carrying one of Mytho's heart shards!" "What," Fakir blinked in surprise. Of all the things she could have told him that was probably the worst. The story of The Prince and The Raven was even drawing in characters from other stories now… A short bitter laugh escaped him as he turned his gaze forward. So, in the end, he had no choice but to fight the ghost knight. Was this yet another attempt by the story to force him into the fate intended for him? If the ghost knight's purpose was to be his enemy then he wouldn't run.

A cold smile crossed Fakir's face as he mused bitterly, "I see, so I still have a duty I can carry out as a knight…" "You couldn't be," Ahiru murmured uneasily before demanding, "Fakir, are you planning to fight that knight?" "Yes," he replied without turning his attention from the path before him as before he explained, "He's searching for the enemy that he is meant to fight." "But," the red-head started to protest, but he cut her off. "After I defeat him, you return the heart shard to Mytho," the young knight glanced down at her with a grim expression on his face, "Even if we end up falling simultaneously…don't concern yourself over me."

He knew there was a good chance he could die in the coming fight, and he didn't want her to grieve for him. This was the most indirect way he could think of to communicate that to her without making her cry. These may be his final words to her…and he didn't want his last sight of her face to be a tearful one. The second he finished speaking he turned back forward and flicked the reins as he let out a short shout. Parsival resumed his canter in response to the command, and the young knight soon left the now desperately frightened ballerina behind. "Fakir," she screamed as he rode away, "Wait!" Fakir ignored her cries. It would be probably for the best if she didn't see him fight, and possibly fall. He was certain she would arrive in time to return the heart shard to the prince either way.

The grim young man rode onwards and soon arrived at the mist shrouded clearing where the ghost knight waited. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find the Raven Prince was there as well in one of the trees with lesser ravens in attendance. He'd almost expected one of the ravens to make an attempt to recruit the phantom after all. It was just his luck that it was the corrupted prince. "Your sword is seeking blood, is it not," the false Mytho mused as he spread his arms in a menacing pose before demanding coldly, "Cut down that useless knight!" The young knight swore he felt his heart break as he heard his friend order his death. Even though he knew it was the raven that was in control it still felt like a betrayal. "Mytho," he whispered sorrowfully before he tensed in preparation for the upcoming fight as his focus shifted to his opponent. The ghost knight was utterly silent as it stared back at him. "So it's just like it was in my dream," Fakir murmured.

"Now," the white-haired teen proclaimed gleefully, "If you are a true knight, get rid of him!" In response to that cruel command, the phantom raised his sword in a formal salute. "You're the one who showed me the end of the story, aren't you," Fakir asked quietly as he drew his own blade. His opponent showed no sign that he had even heard the young man's words as he charged forward, and the green-eyed knight grunted as he blocked the attack. The battle was on. Their blades clashed several more times before the young knight muttered under his breath, "I'll take this sword and run it through your heart, just as you wished!" The ghost knight did not respond save to continue his attack which the dark-haired teen smoothly countered before he finished his thought firmly, "And then you can finally die!" Seconds later the phantom swung his sword mightily and Fakir grunted as he barely managed to block the strike. Unlike past attacks, the ghost knight pressed on in an attempt to overpower his foe and Fakir struggled to hold his attacker off. This was not going to be easy.

Fakir managed to deflect the ghost knight's attempt to overpower him and wheeled his mount around for another attack. The phantom mirrored him and they both charged across the clearing to meet once more in a vicious clash. This time their steeds both staggered and fell from the force of the impact. The young knight grunted in pain as he fell from Parsival's back, but hurriedly climbed back to his feet. Remaining prone was a death sentence in a fight like this. His opponent had done the same, and the young man charged forward to continue the battle. The ghost knight mirrored his action, and the dark haired teen let out a fierce cry as he moved to strike. Yet it never landed for Ahiru in Tutu's form leapt between them with a desperate plea on her lips, "Stop!" Malachite green eyes widened in shock as their owner immediately pulled his attack so he didn't hit her, but his opponent continued to follow through. Fakir turned his attack into a desperate rescue attempt as he wrapped his arm around her slim waist and leapt away.

The two teens landed heavily on the ground, but his effort had paid off. The ghost knight's swing had missed them both. "What are you doing, you idiot," the young knight demanded of the diminutive ballerina in his arms. She could have gotten herself killed! However, there wasn't going to be time for an answer as he looked up to see the phantom approaching menacingly through the mist. Fakir tensed and prepared to get back to his feet, but Ahiru beat him to it as she gracefully stood and moved to stand in front of him once more. She had a desperate look on her face as she mimed denial along with her plea, "Don't fight with him, Fakir." Seconds later both ballerina and phantom were swallowed by the mist and the prone young man felt his heart leap into his throat. "Wait, Tutu," he cried out as he surged to his feet, but it was too late. She was gone.

"Damn," he swore before crying out desperately once more, "Where are you, Tutu?" His fear grew as he continued to search through the mist with no sign of the ballerina. She wasn't a fighter! What was she thinking going up against the ghost knight when the only thing it knew was conflict?! 'Oh God, please don't let her die,' he prayed desperately as he continued to search, 'Please! She can't die!' Fakir staggered slightly as that desperate thought and the emotion fueling it suddenly registered and he wondered, 'Wait… _Why_ do I even feel like this? She's one of my best friends, but this feels different… Like her death would utterly destroy me…' The dark haired teen was snapped out of his stunned thoughts by the sound of faint cries of pain…Ahiru's cries! "Tutu," he cried out desperately as he ran through the dense mist, "What's wrong? Where are you?" "Stay away," she called back just as desperately. 'Like hell,' the young knight swore internally as he continued searching, 'If you think for a _second_ I'm not going to do everything in my power to save you, you've got another thing coming idiot!'

Unfortunately, no matter how much he searched he found neither hide nor hair of the red-head and his desperation grew. She wasn't crying out in pain anymore, but that was of no consolation. He knew full well that one could be injured to the point that one's voice failed and it _killed_ him to think of the blue-eyed ballerina being in that condition. 'Please don't be dead,' Fakir pleaded as he continued searching, 'Please! I couldn't handle it if you died! Please be alive, Ahiru! _Please_!' He heard the sound of rushing wind and realized the false Mytho had departed. At the same time, the grim atmosphere that had permeated the clearing since he'd arrived faded and he hesitated. "Was the ghost knight able to die," he wondered as the mist started to fade. He looked around and, through the thinning wisps, he spotted a familiar avian shape lying prone on the ground.

"Ahiru," he gasped in horror once her battered form came into view and he dropped his sword as he ran towards the injured duck. Fakir fell to his knees next to her as his eyes started to burn with unshed tears as he took in just how badly she was hurt. Blood stained her soft yellow feathers in numerous locations and she was far too still. He slowly reached out to pick up her limp little body and cradled her in his hands. Slowly, her gentle blue eyes cracked open and she seemed to smile as she looked up at him for a few moments before they fell shut once more. He could hold his tears back no longer as he wondered hopelessly, 'Can I not protect even her with my sword?' "Ahiru," he whispered brokenly as he cradled her wounded body to his chest, "Why…did you risk your life for me? Don't you realize it would kill me if you died?! I can't lose you, dammit! I…"

Fakir cut himself short as the full extent of the change his feelings for her had undergone abruptly slammed into him like a sledgehammer. Ahiru was far more than just his best friend; far more than his ally. "I…," the young man whispered haltingly, "I can't… There's no way… But there's no other explanation for this feeling… I… I'm…" He swallowed hard as he finished admitting it to himself internally, 'I'm in love with Ahiru… That's why…I can't bear to see her suffer… Why the thought of her death terrifies me so… Why I want to protect her…more than anything…' His tears continued to flow down his face as he stared down at the fragile little body cradled in his arms in amazement and sorrow. Fakir finally understood just how much she meant to him, yet now was not the time to dwell on his feelings. He had to take care of Ahiru's injuries.

The young knight wiped his tears away with his free hand as he cradled Ahiru in his other arm before picking up her pendant. The chain had snapped in the exact same place he'd damaged it almost a month ago. He'd never actually gotten around to fixing it after everything that had happened, and resolved to take care of that while the injured duck recovered. Fakir then pocketed the stone, stood, retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and carefully mounted Parsival. The faithful gelding had not wandered off in spite of everything that had happened and had long since gotten back to his feet. The young man urged his steed into a gentle, yet brisk, walk.

It didn't take him long to make it back home – much to his relief – and he slid down from the horse's back. The dark-haired teen hesitated briefly before heading inside. Normally, he would have taken care of his mount's needs first, but his avian friend's needs struck him as being more important. He'd have to ask Charon to tend to the gelding for him. The smith was understandably confused to see his son return home with an injured waterfowl cradled in his arm. "What are you doing with that poor duck," the older man asked. "Long story," the malachite eyed teen replied shortly before indicating the bird in his arms, "I'll explain later. I have to take care of her wounds. Would you mind removing Parsival's tack and rubbing him down for me?" His adoptive father agreed as the young knight continued on his way up to his room.

Once he shut the door behind him, he carefully lay Ahiru down on his bed, left briefly to retrieve the first-aid kit from the bathroom, and set about treating her injuries. Thankfully, they weren't as severe as they first appeared. The worst was a large gash on her left wing which he carefully bandaged. Most of the others had already stopped bleeding yet he still carefully cleaned the feathers around them. Fakir finally relaxed as he realized she mostly needed to rest and recover her strength. However, now that the fragile avian was no longer in danger, he was free to consider the consequences of his being in love with her.

'She'll never love me back,' he realized sadly as he changed out of his knight's clothes and into his favorite outfit, 'The story won't allow her to love anyone other than Mytho, and why would she even want to love anyone else. He's a prince, and I am merely a knight. One who is completely _useless_. She's…too good for me.' A bitter smile crossed his face as he grabbed a chair and pulled it over next to his bed before settling himself down to watch over her sleeping form. There was no way she would ever see him as anything more than a friend, and he was willing to accept that. Fakir resolved that he would never let her know how his feelings had changed. The young knight would always be there for her when she needed him, but would seek nothing more. So long as she was part of his life…that would be enough. It would have to be.

 **A/N:** I officially no longer have to worry about dropping hints about Fakir's feelings! He's worked it out! Of course, that doesn't mean his difficulties are over. Give it another chapter or so and I will be covering his thoughts on the matter. Did I do a good job foreshadowing how his feelings changed up until he finally realized it? Do I need to go back and take out some of the hints? Did I give it away too early? I wanted you guys to feel the impact of his realization just as he did, though perhaps not as intensely. If I gave it away too soon, then I really need to go back and fix it! Only I can't do that unless my readers let me know. Yes, I am blatantly fishing for feedback. I want to improve as a writer, dammit! I can't do that unless people let me know what works and what doesn't! So tell me! I want to know! Well, I should probably get started on the next chapter. See you all then! **Present day edit: Upon further consideration, I chose to cut the 'respected senior' line. The only reason I included it was because, as I was coming up with the dialogue in my head, my brain inserted the Japanese honorific 'senpai' there. 'Respected senior' was the best translation I could come up with. Only it kind of doesn't make sense to include it since these are German students and not Japanese ones. So I deleted it. All other changes were the minor ones I've been making in every chapter up to this point. Because I am just that nitpicky with some details…**


	20. What I can never have

**A/N:** MORE FAKIR ANGST! YAY! It's far more fun to write than it has any right to be… Also we're getting closer to the big plot twist! WHEEEEEE! Looking forward to that so much! In fact, it is only two chapters away! ….Not counting this one, of course. Don't really have anything else to say, so I am just going to start writing now! Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** You realize that if I owned the series Ahiru would have reciprocated Fakir's feelings in canon, right? This never happened, so we can logically deduce that I don't own Princess Tutu.

Chapter 20: What I can never have…

Fakir spent the rest of the afternoon watching over the slumbering Ahiru in duck form while also repairing the chain to her pendant, and part of the evening, before something happened. Charon had sent Uzura up to bring him dinner and had stayed once she recognized the duck sleeping in the young man's bed. "Oooh," the puppet girl cooed, "It's Ahiru-zura! Why is she sleeping-zura?" "Because she got hurt doing something stupid," the young knight replied curtly as he shot the unconscious duck-girl an annoyed look. Just because he was in love with her didn't mean he was going to let her live her reckless actions down any time soon… If anything it meant he intended to chew her out even more than usual once she woke back up…as soon as he got over the feelings of relief. Trying to fight the ghost knight herself was the very definition of stupidity, and he was justifiably annoyed by how she had put her life at risk for no reason. He had been handling the fight just fine!

"She's sleeping because she's hurt-zura," Uzura asked with a worried look. Fakir sighed and gave a the little girl a weak smile as he reassured her, "She wasn't hurt that badly. She should be perfectly fine once she wakes up." "When will that be-zura," the little puppet wondered. "I don't know," the young knight admitted quietly as he adjusted the sheet covering Ahiru's delicate form. He caught a glimpse of the light from his lamp reflecting off of the repaired chain hanging around her neck. He had long since finished his repairs to her pendant. This time he had fully replaced the damaged link in the chain. It wouldn't fail again. 'Which is more than can be said about me,' the young man confessed bitterly to himself. He been struggling with feelings of guilt and self-loathing, on and off, ever since he'd found her battered little body lying limp in the middle of that clearing. Basically, when he wasn't annoyed with her for risking her life for his sake, he was blaming himself for his failure to protect her.

While the young knight was gradually sinking into the ever looming mire of depression that haunted him, Uzura was thinking of what she could do to help her favorite people. She'd frowned in concentration as she stared at the slumbering duck-girl for a few moments before her eyes widened and she cooed softly. She had an idea of how to wake her up _and_ snap her 'big brother' out of his grim mood all at once. True, he'd told her not to do this particular thing because it was rude, but that had yet to stop her. Besides, _this_ time, it was for a good cause! The little puppet toddled out of the room and retrieved a pitcher of water before toddling back in with a broad smile on her face. Fakir didn't notice what she was up to until she had crawled up onto his bed, miraculously without spilling a drop of water, but once he did his eyes widened in horror. "Uzura," he yelped, "What do you think you're doing?!" "I'm helping Ahiru-zura," the green-haired puppet declared as she raised the pitcher over her head. "S-stop," the young knight sputtered as he started to move away, but the little girl had already dumped the water out.

A blush started to spread across his face as he realized he not only was about to have a naked girl in his bed, but a naked girl he had just recently recognized that he was in love with. He yelped in dismay and he tried to raise his arm to block his view of her body. Yet, before the water reached the sleeping duck, she suddenly vanished. One second his sheets had been gently draped over Ahiru's slumbering form, and the next they were thrown back as though she had gotten up and casually wandered off. The water splashed onto an empty bed and Uzura cooed in fascination. Fakir's reaction was less accepting. "What the hell," he muttered as he started looking around. "Did she disappear-zura," the little puppet wondered as she watched the disturbed young knight search. His path took him over to his window and he happened to catch a glimpse of the missing yellow duck staring up at him from the street below. To his relief, she seemed entirely back to normal aside from the bandage around her wing. She was still getting a lecture for worrying him, though.

The dark-haired teen hurried down the stairs and opened the door to fetch the little yellow duck from the street. She quacked up at him sheepishly as he picked her up and carried her back inside. "Shut up, moron," Fakir grumbled before he started chewing her out, "What were you thinking fighting the ghost knight on your own?! You _hate_ fighting!" Ahiru started to quack at him in protest, but he cut her off. "I'm not finished," he snapped quietly, "There was no reason for you to risk your life! I was holding my own well enough before you jumped in! And if that wasn't enough you _had_ to try and face him yourself! That knight killed his own lover in cold blood and that isn't getting into all of the war crimes he committed! There was a _reason_ he was exiled, idiot! What made you think your usual method of retrieving heart shards was going to work on him?! Do you have any idea how terrified I was when you vanished?! I _hate_ losing people, Ahiru, and I nearly lost _you_ today! You're one of my best friends!"

The little yellow duck looked slightly guilty as his lecture wound down and the young knight gave a heavy sigh before whispering hoarsely, "Don't go risking yourself like that for my sake, understand? I can take care of myself." "Quack," Ahiru replied quietly as she nodded her head. "Good," Fakir breathed before his expression softened from the stern scowl into a gentle gaze as he murmured quietly, "I never want to feel like that ever again…" The little duck looked up at him curiously and quacked an inquiry which the young man dismissed with a slight shake of his head, "Never mind." By this point they had reached the staircase and were halfway up. Uzura was standing up at the staircase with the spare set of clothing the duck-girl started stashing at his place after he learned of her involuntary transformations. She had several other stashes, it turned out, that she'd started earlier in the year. She had explained that she ended up turning back into a duck by accident often enough that having emergency spare uniforms stashed around town seemed to make sense. The young knight had agreed, back when she'd first brought it up, and the decision turned out to be a wise one considering their current circumstances.

Because her pendant had come off while she was still Tutu and in the midst of passing out, she had gone straight from magical ballerina princess to duck meaning the uniform she _had_ been wearing was completely lost in the process. Ahiru hadn't even known that was a thing before now. However, since her uniform hadn't been nearby when Fakir had found her lying unconscious it seemed that this was, in fact, the consequence for such an event. The young knight carried her into his room and refilled the pitcher of water Uzura had dumped out earlier before delivering it to her so she could turn herself human again. That done he rapidly darted out of the room and shut the door behind him. He wasn't taking any chances since the little puppet had tagged along and was watching curiously from his bed as she changed out his wet sheets for dry ones. Repeated incidents had taught him to dread that look…

The diminutive ballerina called out to him the second she returned to human form, "Hey, Fakir?" "What is it," he replied. "You weren't too upset when I wasn't in the bed anymore were you," she inquired uneasily before she started to ramble rapidly, "I mean, I wasn't expecting to wake up there and all and you were all frozen and that usually only happens when Drosselmeyer-san shows up so I went to go look for him. Only he was outside so I hopped out the window to talk to him cause I thought he might have some answers about how to fix Mytho but then he vanished and time started again and I was still outside and I'm really sorry about that if I worried you again!" Fakir blinked in confusion as he struggled to make sense of the rapid-fire burst of words spilling out of her before managed to work out one thing in particular that caught his attention and his head snapped up in disbelief. "What," the young knight asked quietly, "You say you saw Drosselmeyer?" Ahiru's response was much calmer this time, "Yeah. It looks like time stops when I meet with Drosselmeyer-san."

Fakir was more confused about how she could be meeting with a dead man. He'd died before finishing writing his final story, 'The Prince and The Raven', and had been dead for a little over a century. Then again, the young man lived in a town where anthropomorphic, talking animals were normal and stories came to life. Dead writers turning up long after their demises to talk to duck-girls wasn't all that unreasonable relatively speaking. "It's okay now, Fakir," the diminutive red head called out effectively snapping him out of his thoughts and he opened the door to continue their conversation. "Then what," he prompted now quite curious as to what they had talked about. "He said that the rest of Mytho's heart shards are sealing away the Monster Raven," Ahiru explained as she looked over at him with worried look on her face, "And then…he said that the heart shards that I returned are hurting him."

The young knight tensed as irritation surged through him. He didn't think he liked Drosselmeyer very much if he had told his friend something that cruel. Still, he could draw one definite conclusion from those words that Ahiru had missed; the story's ending was now imminent. Which meant the potential suffering that Mytho's incomplete heart could be causing mattered little compared to what was to come. "So what," he snapped tersely as he closed his eyes. "What," the red-head gasped in disbelief. Fakir's eyes snapped back open as he met her gaze seriously, "If it's as Drosselmeyer says, then the moment when the rest of the shards are returned is when the raven will be revived. In other words, that will be when the fight begins." A fearful gasp tore itself out of the diminutive ballerina's throat as the young man continued harshly, "Mytho has to be prepared for some suffering already. If you're not prepared to handle that, you should stop becoming Princess Tutu. I will protect Mytho with my sword." He wanted Ahiru as far away from the battle to come as possible, to be honest. The further she was from the fight, the safer she would be and her safety mean more to him than anything else now. Yet the only part she seemed to focus on was his conviction to continue to uphold his role as the knight.

"Um, I don't really want you to carry a sword," Ahiru admitted, "I mean, it's dangerous and stuff…" "So you don't recognize my ability as a knight," he countered coldly. The young knight felt a bit betrayed by her apparent doubt in his abilities yet he couldn't really blame her for that. After all, he'd had the same doubts himself all week. "That's not it," the red head protested as she jumped to her feet and turned to face him directly as she frantically tried to explain even as the young man stared back at her, "I mean, you've been researching things in books and stuff all this time, right? So, I think you could be a knight like that instead of…" Unfortunately, her words could not pierce the growing haze of depression clouding his mind. All he could focus on was that even _she_ thought he was a failure as a knight…and the worst part was that he didn't think she was wrong about that. Only the bitterness over this proof of his inadequacy showed, though. He was too ashamed to let her see just how broken he really felt.

"Fakir…," the diminutive ballerina started to address him before he interrupted her with a trace of bitterness. "If your wounds are healed, then you should go home," Fakir stated, "I'll walk you there." Uzura gave her big brother figure a worried look as he left. She may have a toddler's mind, but she could tell something was very wrong. She recognized that his depression was blinding him. She understood that the red-head believed in him more than anyone. The little puppet may not be capable of fully articulating the matter that way, but the realizations remained. Ahiru followed after him quietly as he left the room, while the green-haired puppet looked after them sadly, and lead the way to the front door. Charon was already in bed, so the house was entirely silent aside from their footsteps. The morose young knight held the front door open for the red-head and followed her out shortly after she cleared the threshold before taking the lead once more.

It wasn't until they were a little over half way back to the dorms that the diminutive ballerina tried speaking to him again. "Are you mad," she asked uncertainly. "I'm not really mad," Fakir replied quietly which was true. Not at her, at least. "You are mad," Ahiru mumbled. 'Only with myself,' the young knight confessed internally, 'I can't really blame you for doubting my ability. I really am an absolute failure at being a knight…' The rest of the walk back passed in silence until they reached the gates of the dorms. They were shut, as it was well after curfew, but not locked. The red-head stepped through the gate before shutting in behind her and looked up at him as though she wanted to say something but wasn't sure what.

Ahiru suddenly looked down at her left arm before grabbing it and looking back at the dark-haired young man with a soft smile. "Thanks for dressing my wounds," the blue-eyed girl told him and his expression darkened slightly at that. She shouldn't be thanking him when he had failed to keep her from being injured in the first place. "See you later," he told her quietly as he turned to leave. "Good night," she called after him. Fakir's self-loathing surged fiercely as he walked away and he murmured bitterly, "A knight who can't even protect his princess, huh?" He reflected on the false Mytho's words from earlier in the week and felt his depression deepen. "Whether I'm here or not," he wondered despondently, "Would it make any difference in the story at all?" He was starting to doubt it.

By the time he made it back home, the young knight's feelings of despair were practically smothering him. Fortunately for him, Uzura had made up her mind to do what she could to cheer him up well before then. Fakir blinked in confusion when he made it back to his room only to be tackle-hugged by the little puppet. "Uzura," he murmured bemusedly, "What are you doing?" "Fakir needs hugs-zura," the green-haired puppet proclaimed from where she had her face buried in his knees, "Lots of hugs-zura!" A slight smile flickered across his face at her sudden outburst of affection. "Why do you think I need hugs," the young man asked the little girl as he gently pried her off of his legs. "Everyone needs hugs-zura," she countered cheerily, "Hugs make the sadness go away-zura!" Malachite green eyes widened slightly in surprise before their owner's expression softened as he realized what she was trying to do. "Are you trying to cheer me up," he murmured as he kneeled to meet her gaze.

Uzura nodded with a broad smile and a melancholy laugh slipped out of the young knight. "That was kind of you," he smiled gently, "But I'll be fine. Things are just a bit…difficult right now." "But I want Fakir to be happy-zura," the little puppet whimpered pathetically. "I know," Fakir replied quietly, "I appreciate it. I just need some time, all right?" "Okay-zura," the child-like puppet agreed reluctantly before glowering at him, "Don't take too long-zura!" The dark-haired teen laughed a bit at how serious she was being, but nodded in agreement. "I'll do my best," he promised before tapping her lightly on the shoulder, "Now I need to get ready for bed. I'll see you in the morning, Uzura." "All right-zura," the little girl chirped before toddling out the door, "Good night, Fakir-zura!" The young man stood and shut the door behind the little puppet with an amused shake of his head. While he was still far from being happy, or even really content, his depression had lessened somewhat as a result of Uzura's actions. She could be really sweet sometimes.

Fakir's mood had improved a little more by the next morning yet not enough for Charon to fail to notice something was bothering the teen. "Is something wrong, Fakir," the smith asked as they ate breakfast. The young man tensed slightly before he replied, "It's nothing…" "Fakir is sad because Ahiru got hurt-zura," Uzura piped up, "And because she doesn't want him to fight anymore-zura." The dark-haired teen winced and scowled fiercely at the little puppet, but didn't deny it. The older man frowned in concern as he questioned his son, "That doesn't sound like nothing to me. What happened?" "Another story woke up last week," the young knight admitted reluctantly, "One about a ghost knight doomed to wander eternally searching for his purpose. Mytho tried recruiting it yesterday and ordered it to kill me. What he didn't know was that the knight was also carrying one of his heart shards. I told Ahiru to wait until I defeated the ghost knight before retrieving the shard, but she chose to jump in the middle of our fight instead. To make things worse, she then tried to retrieve the heart shard the way she normally does and got injured in the process. She could have died! There was no reason for her to risk her life like that!"

"I'm not entirely certain that is true," Charon observed with a thoughtful frown. The young knight flinched slightly and looked away, "I was handling it just fine on my own!" "Are you sure the ghost knight was even capable of being wounded," the smith asked skeptically. Fakir flinched again as he confessed in a low tone, "I…don't know. For the past week, he'd died at my hand at least once a night in my dreams but…I'm pretty sure that was the ghost knight's attempt at communicating to _someone_ his desire for an ending." "There is also the fact that ghosts are incapable of becoming exhausted while _you_ most definitely are," the smith pointed out reasonably, "So you were locked in a battle to the death with an opponent you weren't entirely certain you could even kill who could not become tired. It seems to me that there was a chance that _you_ would have died if she hadn't intervened."

"I knew that," Fakir bit out bitterly, "The raven in Mytho wants me out of the way and since getting me expelled hasn't worked he's escalated. That's why there was no reason for Ahiru to risk her life! He's not going to stop trying to kill me any time soon! I don't want her dying for my sake!" "I understand that," Charon sighed sadly before continuing, "I don't doubt that your friend feels the same way, though." The young knight could honestly say that there was no way _that_ was true. 'After all,' he observed internally as he closed his eyes in resignation, 'She only sees me as a friend while I…I'm hopelessly in love with her…' Of course, he wasn't going to be telling anyone about that any time soon. Admitting his feelings to himself was one thing; he was a naturally private person and was _not_ about to talk about a major change such as _falling in love_ until far more time had passed. Thus his only _verbal_ response to his adoptive father's words was to scoff quietly and look away. "As for the not wanting you to fight anymore, I suppose I can see where she is coming from," the smith mused thoughtfully. "She doesn't believe in me," Fakir whispered hoarsely as he clenched his fists. "Not true-zura," Uzura piped up drawing both men's attention, "Ahiru believes in Fakir the most-zura!"

"Uzura's right," Charon stated in the face of his son's disbelieving stare, "Ahiru knows the fate you face as the knight, correct?" "The young knight nodded slowly and the older man smiled sadly, "It's not that she doesn't believe in you. She's just concerned about your safety. No doubt she feels you would have better luck evading it if you found other ways to help the prince other than fighting. I feel the same sometimes." Fakir winced slightly before protesting, "What else am I supposed to do, then?! My research has been worse than useless up until now, and words aren't going to change anything! Fighting is all I can do!" Even though he privately admitted he hadn't had much success with _that_ either. The young knight _knew_ he was useless in his current role, but that didn't mean he was going to stop trying. He was far too stubborn to give up. Besides…he had given his word.

The smith was sympathetic as he replied, "I'm sure it feels that way, but you can't give up hope. I believe you will find a way to help Mytho soon enough. Just keep trying." "I will," the dark-haired young man vowed as he stood up to put his dishes aside to be cleaned, "I never intended to stop." He then grabbed his books and left for campus without another word. He _was_ somewhat comforted to learn that Ahiru _did_ still believe in him. The thought that she didn't had hurt terribly. Even the raven couple's mockery hadn't hurt that much. Yet the green-eyed teen was still mildly irked by her naïve insistence that he find another way to fulfill his role. He'd _tried_ that already. What did she think had been driving him back when they first met?! The fact was fighting had been his last resort. He _had_ no other options left.

The day turned out to be fairly routine; the classes passed as they usually did. About the only interesting thing of note was the fact that Mytho was absent and Kraehe looked oddly concerned. 'Perhaps the return of that last heart shard has strengthened Mytho's ability to resist the Raven's power,' Fakir mused during afternoon lessons, 'At least for a little while. I hope so. Ahiru needs time to find the missing heart shards, and _I_ need the time to find some way to save Mytho. We can't count on his getting the rest of his heart back to be enough to free him from the raven's power.' Somehow he had the sneaking suspicion that a certain red-head was expecting exactly that as an outcome. It was the sort of absurdly hopeful thing she'd come up with. The Raven Princess really did look worried, though, and more than a little uncertain. Could she be having her own doubts about who her prince was becoming? He had noticed that, by the end of last week, her mocking smiles had almost entirely stopped as her attention focused increasingly on the Raven Prince. She'd actually started to ignore the young knight entirely, and that trend seemed to be continuing. If Kraehe was actually starting to have doubts that was a good thing for him and Ahiru. It meant there was a chance that she would become less of a problem…at least until she worked out her issues.

Once classes let out, the young man retreated into the campus library for more research. For the moment, that was the only thing he could do until the ravens made their next move. Besides, he still needed to find a cure. He vaguely recognized the only other student in the corner of the library he settled into as having been in there once before. Hadn't he been there the same day the young knight had been suspended? It didn't really matter either way. Fakir had his own research to do and he recalled that the other young man was perfectly content to ignore him. That suited him fine. However, as he continued to search through the library's collection, an old pattern started to emerge with a new, disturbing variation. Every last one of the books he grabbed had had their endings torn out! At least in the past it was only some of them, but now… Why did _all_ of his selections suffer the same mutilation? However, before he could really start to brood over the mystery that had been dogging him ever since he was expelled, a familiar drumming reached his ears. Uzura was in the library making a racket for some reason.

The drumming was drawing closer and he could hear the little puppet chanting 'love' over and over again. She was really obsessed with that emotion and Fakir had to admit he was relieved she still didn't know about how his feelings for a certain red-head had changed. She'd never leave him alone. The dark-haired teen sighed faintly and looked up as the little girl turned the corner of the nearest shelf. Once he caught sight of she was wearing on her head, though, he had to fight down an amused grin. Somehow the little girl had found a donkey-head mask and had apparently claimed the silly looking thing as her own. Seconds later, the green-haired puppet was followed by a frazzled looking Ahiru. "Fakir," the diminutive ballerina gasped out as she pursued the little puppet and managed to grab the little noise-maker just as she reached her big brother figure. "What are you playing with Uzura for," Fakir asked curiously over said puppet's continued racket. "I'm asking you," the other male student snapped in irritation, "Could you please be quiet?!" "Sorry," the young man replied with a quick glance his way before turning his attention back to the blue-eyed girl. She'd been surprised by the other young man's outburst, but soon looked back at her older friend hopefully. "Fakir," the red-head smiled at him, "You're looking through books again…" She was getting the wrong idea; he could tell. "I'm just doing what little I can," the dark-haired young man stated as he turned back to his book, "It's not like I've cast away my sword."

He could see Ahiru's face fall out of the corner of his eye as she replied, "Right…" Fakir felt a surge of guilt for being the cause of her disappointment, but she was asking the one thing of him he could not deliver. A knight was what he _was_ at his core, and always would be. "Now," he heard the red-head tell the little puppet kindly, "Uzura-chan, we're bothering him, so let's go." The child-like puppet cooed as the diminutive ballerina carried her away and started drumming and chanting again much to the irritation of the other student. "I asked you to be quiet," he snapped once more. The young knight sighed softly as the blue-eyed girl apologized frantically and turned his attention back to his books. The mystery surrounding the books missing their endings had officially deepened with the emergence of the ghost knight, and it worried him. 'Why? Why is it that all of these books worry me? All of the books I get have had their endings torn out. The script about the ghost knight as well, but I saw the conclusion of that story in a dream,' he wondered with an uneasy grimace before bringing his hand up to the bridge of his nose in frustration, 'Damn it! What does this mean?'

He'd hoped that this whole oddity with the books without endings was simply incidental and didn't really involve him. Yet he felt that was not the case. Not after what had happened with the ghost knight. Somehow he got the feeling the mutilated books were somehow connected with why he was able to see the end of the ghost knight's story. It wasn't a comforting thought. It meant there was a chance that whoever had torn out the endings of those books may take exception to his unexpected ability. 'But why was I even able to do something like that in the first place,' Fakir buried his face in his hands and ran them back through his bangs agitatedly, 'I'm nothing special. It just doesn't make any sense!' While the mystery regarding the books missing their endings had dramatically jumped up his priorities list, however, his desire to save Mytho still held the top spot. He pushed his concerns regarding the books out of his mind and focused on his research.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he searched his luck did not change. Everything he found turned out to be useless for they all lacked an ending. "Damn it," Fakir swore under his breath, "Why can't I find anything I can actually use?!" The library was closing for the day, so he had no choice but to head home in frustration. As he walked back across town he started brooding over the mutilated books again. As far as he could recall, they hadn't had much in common beyond all being works of fiction. They all varied in style, tone, and setting. About the only other similarity he could find between them was that a thread of tragic circumstance wove through each and every one. '"Could it be that the person or people who tore out the endings just didn't like tragedies," the young knight tried to rationalize before shaking his head slightly, "No… Somehow I get the feeling it's something else. I just haven't the slightest idea what that might be…"

He tensed slightly as the sensation of being watched stole over him once more and he looked around warily. Yet like every time before there was no one there. "And what is with this feeling that someone is watching me," he murmured uneasily as he picked up his pace, "I'm getting really sick of this… Just what is going on?!" Finally, he made it back home and relaxed slightly as he walked through the front door. "I'm back," the dark-haired teen called out. "Fakir-zura," Uzura squealed as she hopped down from the kitchen table and darted over eagerly, "I found Ahiru's love-love-zura!" Fakir gaped at the little puppet in confusion, "What?" The green-haired puppet pulled out a red envelope covered in hearts and frills then held it up for him to see, "Look-zura! It has love-love all over!" The young man grabbed the envelope and looked it over curiously. He didn't recognize the handwriting, but it had his and Ahiru's name on it. He'd actually seen her writing before on the few occasions he'd helped her with her homework while he'd been suspended. It had been barely legible. Whoever had written this, it hadn't been the diminutive ballerina.

Fakir smiled and shook his head before telling the little puppet, "It may have her name on it, but Ahiru didn't write this. Someone was probably playing a mean joke on her or something." "But she was carrying it before-zura," Uzura protested with a pout. "Then someone probably got the wrong idea about our friendship and thought they were helping her," the young man stated evenly as he handed the unopened letter back, "Ahiru doesn't feel that way about me." 'Though I wish she did,' he admitted to himself as the green-haired puppet's pout deepened. "So this isn't love-love-zura," the little girl asked despondently. "No, it's not," the young knight confirmed with a sympathetic head pat before a melancholy look flickered across his face and he murmured, "Her heart belongs to another." The child-like puppet looked up at him in disappointment, "But I want Fakir and Ahiru to be love-love-zura…" The dark haired teen stared down at her in shock at that admission before blurting, "What?! Why?!"

"Because Ahiru makes Fakir happy-zura," the little puppet stated plainly, "And Fakir makes Ahiru happy, so you should be love-love-zura." "It's not as simple as that," Fakir sighed as he straightened back up, "There's more to love than just making each other happy." "Tell me-zura," Uzura demanded. The young knight blushed and stammered uneasily as he tried to explain, "Um, I…er…I don't really know much myself, but… Erm, I guess love is complicated. Sometimes the one you love won't return your feelings, but that's okay because so long as they're happy that's the important thing. Sometimes you get really angry with each other, but only because you care… Um…it's hard because it hurts you when the one you love is sad or in pain… Love can be really selfish sometimes because you want the one you love to care more about you than anyone else. Yet it can also be selfless because you would do anything for the sake of that one person. It's just…so many complicated and conflicting things. I'm…not doing a very good job of explaining this, am I?"

Uzura had been watching her surrogate older brother in awe as he did his best to convey what love was. His tone and expression had both been uncertain for most of his little speech before shifting to being vaguely sheepish as he ran his hand through his hair. "Oooh," she cooed softly, "So _that's_ love-love-zura!" The young man sighed heavily before giving the little puppet a weak smile, "I'm glad that made sense to you." He was far from an expert on love even though he could recognize the feeling in himself. The little girl beamed happily up at her big brother figure, "I hope Fakir is love-love with Ahiru someday anyways-zura!" The young knight choked on his surprise as the green-haired puppet toddled away while playing on her drum once more cheerfully chanting 'love' over and over. "I'm just going to pretend this never happened," he muttered as he blushed deeply. He glanced down and realized she had left the letter behind. He should probably return it to his red-haired friend before Uzura started getting even _more_ ideas… She'd complained to him in the past that her two friends had a habit of trying to play matchmaker, so chances were it was one of them who had written the letter in the first place. He also had a suspicion that Ahiru would freak out upon learning he'd received it even though he hadn't read it. "She shouldn't get upset over such worthless things," the dark-haired teen murmured as he picked up the letter. It wasn't as though he didn't know he had a snowflake's chance in hell of her ever returning his feelings after all. The universe really did love to torment him…

The rest of his day and night passed uneventfully aside from a brief explanation to Charon about the little duck he'd brought home the day before. He'd been forced to tell the truth about that being Ahiru's true form, but the man had handled it well enough. "Your best friend is the prince from a story and you are the reincarnation of the knight from the same story," the smith pointed out with a resigned smile, "Not to mention the fact that this story is playing itself out in our town. Compared to all of that a duck who turns into a girl who turns into a magical ballerina is positively normal." He wasn't wrong. Even his dreams hadn't been particularly remarkable. At the very least, he didn't remember any of them when he awoke the following morning.

The next day, Fakir headed in to campus with the fake love letter stashed in his uniform jacket to return to Ahiru. He didn't get the chance until lunch break when he ran into the girl on the walkway connecting the main ballet building to the lecture hall. The fact that it took him so long to track her down left young man feeling vaguely annoyed and it carried over into his voice as he addressed her, "Hey." "What," she asked him uncertainly. The young knight pulled out the letter the little puppet had recovered and held it out to her passively, "Yesterday, Uzura brought this to me." As he suspected, the red head immediately started freaking out as she ripped it out of his hand. "Ah," she yelped, "I didn't write it! Lilie and Pique wrote it! So, what do I say…?" The dark-haired teen stared at her in annoyance as she rambled. She should really know him well enough by now to know he wouldn't be fooled so easily by a fake love letter. The diminutive ballerina noticed his irritated look and bowed her head shamefully as she apologized, "Sorry." Fakir closed his eyes and scoffed lightly before he continued on his way, "Don't do such worthless things, moron."

As he walked away he heard her mumble, "I knew it…" The green-eyed young man paused and looked back at her inquisitively, "Knew what?" "Eh," Ahiru yelped before she started to explain, "Um, yesterday I was just thinking that if you ever got this letter you would say something like that." He sighed in irritation before frowning at her and indicating the letter in her hand, "If you realized that much then why would you even think I'd take that thing seriously in the first place. I know what your handwriting looks like, idiot." The blue-eyed girl looked down at the letter as she sheepishly admitted, "Oh yeah… I forgot about that…" "I gathered as much," Fakir stated dryly before shooting her a mildly reproachful look, "Next time they try pulling something like this don't get so worked up. I know full well that _Mytho_ is the one you have feelings for."

"What makes you think there will be a next time," Ahiru asked with a disturbed look on her face." "After everything you've told me about those two nuisances you call friends," the young knight pointed out wryly, "I would be surprised if they gave up on the idea that you have a thing for me so easily. Especially with Mytho's behavior being influenced by the raven's blood." "Yeah," the red-head agreed with a despondent look on her face. "We'll get him back," he assured her with a comforting smile. "Right," the red-head nodded firmly before smiling broadly back at him, "Thank you, Fakir. You're a good friend!" "Yeah," Fakir replied softly as he turned to leave again, "So are you…" And friends were all they would ever be. She was the _one_ person with whom he could never have the relationship he truly wanted…

 **A/N:** And that is yet another chapter down! I slipped in more foreshadowing! Whee! And, yes, Uzura ships Fakir/Ahiru. She would. You know this to be true. Also, Fakir _does_ have a major problem with depression. Not quite bad enough for him to be suicidal, but still pretty nasty. Bad things keep happening to him! You'd be depressed too in his situation! Next chapter has one of my favorite plot developments! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Also the strongest evidence for my belief that he has PTSD. If his reaction to Ahiru reminding him that he used to write stories that came true _isn't_ a post-traumatic flashback then I'm a penguin. I am not a penguin. Penguins can't type on laptops. Logic should take care of the rest. See you all next chapter, then! **Present day edit: RANDOM SPACES! AGH! At least they're gone now…**


	21. Rememberance

**A/N:** SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! LOVE THIS EPISODE SO MUCH! ALSO IT'S THE LAST ONE BEFORE THE MAJOR PLOT TWIST! HEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! If you can't tell, I am excited by this. So let's begin, shall we? _**Bold-italics**_ indicate a flashback. Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** This series. I do not own it. Princess Tutu belongs to people who are not me. That is all.

Chapter 21: Remembrance

A week had passed since the entire love letter incident and matters had only continued to deteriorate with the infected prince. His behavior had grown increasingly erratic; enough so that people not involved with the story were starting to notice something was off. Mr. Katze had been the first, but the anthropomorphic feline had assumed, as usual, that it was related to love in some way. Yet now other students were noticing as well which had caused them to stop shunning Fakir as much. The growing rumor was that the whole reason that the young knight had gotten in trouble in the first place was because he had noticed something off about his friend, had confronted the other teen over it, the white-haired teen then deliberately provoked him, and finally his temper had just snapped. It still didn't excuse shoving the shorter teen out the window, but they now felt sorry for him more than anything.

Needless to say, this annoyed the dark-haired young man. He didn't need their pity! Ahiru had pointed out that, at least if they were noticing something off, chances were it would be harder for him to seduce his victims. They would be warier about being approached. He couldn't deny that this was true. Anything that cut down on the Raven Prince's efforts to steal young women's hearts was welcome as far as he was concerned. Furthermore, Kraehe was now focused almost entirely on the corrupted prince. She didn't even bother to taunt the blue-eyed girl anymore and completely ignored Fakir. The young knight was seriously starting to wonder if she had even known what the effects of raven's blood would be in the first place. She certainly wasn't acting as though everything was going according to plan. If anything, she seemed increasingly uncertain and afraid. It was puzzling, but the green-eyed teen had no time to spare on working out whatever her issues were. He was still determined to find a way to save his friend.

That day had been a half day of classes, so Fakir immediately made his way to the used bookstore the second school let out. However, once again _every_ book he selected had had its ending torn out. He wasn't even finding the useless ones anymore and it was worrying him immensely. Once he worked through his first pile he set them aside on a nearby stool and started to brood over the problem. 'In order to find a way to return Mytho to the story,' he reflected as he rested his forehead on his folded hands, 'I've just grabbed whatever books struck me as being potentially useful. So…why do I always choose books whose endings are missing? Why? What meaning is there to these torn books? I…' He was snapped out of his fretful thoughts when he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a woman's voice exclaim lightly, "Found you!" The troubled young knight raised his head as he vaguely recognized the voice and started trying to remember who it belonged to. Then whoever it was kissed him on the cheek and he stiffened in discomfort. He turned to glare sharply at the one who had kissed him before his eyes widened in surprise and he gasped softly.

"Raetsel," he murmured in amazement, "Is that really you?" "It's been a while, Fakir," his surrogate older sister greeted with a smile, "You've grown into quite the handsome young man since the last time I saw you." Fakir hadn't seen the older young woman in at least three years since she moved out of Charon's. Like him, she had lost her parents when she was still too young to look after herself, and the smith had taken her in. She was a good eight years older than the dark-haired teen, though. His parents had been forced to explain to him that she wasn't really the older man's daughter when they'd first been introduced. In fact, she was actually a distant cousin on his mother's side. As far as he knew, she was his only remaining blood relative. After _his_ parents' deaths, Raetsel had done her best to help the sandy-haired man care for his traumatized new charge. She would do everything she could think of to cheer him up when he fell into a foul mood. "Raetsel," he breathed faintly before a soft smile crossed his face. He had missed her.

"What are you reading," Raetsel asked her adopted younger sibling curiously as she tried to get a look at the last book he had opened in front of him. "Nothing much," the dark-haired young man replied as he shut it without turning away from his sister. He still was having a hard time believing she had come back. It wasn't as though she'd left on bad terms when she'd moved out, but there had been a sort of finality to her departure when the then 20 year old had walked out the door. "Why did you come back," he demanded quietly. The brown haired woman smiled down at him, "Several reasons, I suppose. One of which was that I missed my cute little brother." Fakir flushed faintly in embarrassment; he wasn't cute! "And the reason you sought me out was," he prompted as he fought down his blush. "I was hoping to spend some time with you this afternoon before stopping by Charon's for a visit," she replied, "But if you're too busy I suppose I can just go ahead on my own."

"No, its fine," the young knight replied as he got to his feet, "What is it that you wanted to do?" "Oh, this and that," Raetsel flapped her hand carelessly as a quiet laugh emerged from her lips, "I was thinking we could just see where our feet take us." That was fairly typical of his surrogate older sibling. It wasn't that she was careless or carefree. She just wasn't the best at making plans and tended to make things up as she went. Still, a break would probably do him a lot of good considering how stressed out his failed research combined with the growing mystery surrounding the mutilated books were making him. "Okay," Fakir nodded as the soft smile from earlier reappeared, "Let's go." The indigo-eyed woman laughed lightly, grabbed his hand in hers, and pulled the young knight after her as she made her way out of the bookstore. Neither noticed the speculative look on the old storekeeper's face as they passed by.

"So how have you been," the woman asked as they looked through the window of the cheesemaker's shop at the samples he had set out. "Well enough," Fakir replied vaguely. The last thing he wanted to do was tell his surrogate older sister about the problems the story was causing him at the moment. He didn't want her getting involved. "So what about you," Fakir inquired as she looked inquisitively at several other shops, "How have _you_ been?" "Life has been interesting," Raetsel stated wistfully, "Living on one's own isn't easy, of course, but I've managed well enough. I made several new friends around where I live. Still…some of the changes recently have been unexpected. Not unpleasant, really, but they certainly managed to catch me off guard. Some of them I am still working on resolving to be honest." "If there is anything I can do to help…," the young man started to offer before his sister patted him on his head, much to his annoyance. "You're sweet," his adopted sibling teased lightly before smiling gently, "If I do end up needing your help I will let you know, all right?" "Fine," the young knight sighed.

They checked out a few more shops before Raetsel spotted a flower shop and her face just lit up. "Ah, they look so pretty," she cooed, "Let's go take a look." The young knight rolled his eyes, but agreed. His surrogate older sibling intently studied the flowers on display as he looked on with a slight smile on his face. He had missed spending time with her. The violet-eyed woman soon grabbed two flowers and held them up beside her head. "Which of these do you think suits me," she asked with a grin; she'd grabbed a yellow one and a pale lavender hued one. He wasn't really the best at things like this, but he liked the delicate look of the lavender one. The yellow one was too flashy looking for his taste. "That one," the young man replied as he pointed at the flower in her right hand. His sister giggled lightly as she turned to face him and lowered her hands before twirling the chosen flower in her fingers.

Fakir smiled back at her fondly; he'd forgotten how much joy she got out of such simple things. "I'll take a bouquet of these," Raetsel told the shopkeeper as she turned to approach the counter with the lavender hued bloom held out in front of her. "An excellent choice," the woman running the store beamed as she moved to fill the order, "Are they a present for someone special?" The young knight could have sworn the smile on his adopted sibling's face froze for a few seconds before she laughed lightly and shook her head. "Not in that sense, no," she replied lightly. "Very well," the shopkeeper nodded before she handed over the completed bouquet, "There you are!" The brown-haired woman paid for her flowers before turning to look back at her younger brother and smiled, "Let's head back to Charon's." The green-eyed teen nodded and murmured, "All right."

They hadn't made it far down the street when he heard a familiar squawking cry. "Hm," he wondered as he looked up and almost shook his head in exasperation. It was Ahiru. For some reason she seemed to be fighting with a bush of all things. She could be so weird sometimes. "Hey," he called out and she froze before looking back at him. "Ah, Fakir," she yelped awkwardly, "Umm…" Raetsel wrapped her arm around his as she leaned forward inquisitively, "Are you a friend of Fakir's?" Fakir looked down at his sister in confusion. Why was she so interested in whether she was his friend or not? Not to mention there was how excited she seemed to be over it. It made him uneasy…particularly since the red-head was _far_ more than a friend from his perspective. If _anyone_ could pry the truth about his feelings for the girl out of him it would be his surrogate older sibling. She was good at that.

The diminutive ballerina yelped in surprise, "Eh?! Um, well, that is.. I don't know if you'd call me a friend or a…a…well… I was out with my other friends just now," the blue-eyed girl stammered before laughing uneasily, "We were all on our way to have ice cream together." She then turned back to the bush and started to excuse herself before freezing. Fakir had a sneaking suspicion the red-haired ballerina's friends had just abandoned her. No doubt as part of yet another matchmaking plot on their part. They'd already attempted two others since the whole love letter fiasco. "Um, they were just here…," she mumbled as she turned back dejectedly and Raetsel giggled. "You're quite an interesting person," the woman observed before introducing herself, "My name is Raetsel. What's yours?" "I'm Ahiru," the duck-girl replied with a friendly, yet still somehow awkward, smile.

Raetsel walked over to the diminutive ballerina and grasped the girl's hands in her own, "Miss Ahiru, we're going back to Fakir's house right now. Would you like to come with us?" "Wha…," Ahiru gasped in shock and a scowl crossed the young knight's face. As much as he enjoyed spending time with the red-head, Fakir wasn't entirely comfortable about her being around the rest of his family. Mostly because he already got the feeling that Charon at least suspected that his feelings for his female friend had changed and with his sister in the picture… This just had terrible idea written all over it. "Raetsel," he started to protest, but she cut him off lightly. "Oh, it'll be fine," the indigo-eyed woman countered as she glanced back at him before turning to the blue-eyed girl once more, "Right?"

Unfortunately, one of the other things he had forgotten was how firmly his adopted sibling could latch on to an idea once it crossed her mind. Yet he remembered now and reluctantly admitted to himself that the only thing he could do was try to avoid treating Ahiru as anything more than a friend. The young man was good enough at fooling the diminutive ballerina, but she was pretty oblivious as it was. She tended to miss when his mask slipped. Raetsel on the other hand…not so much. This was going to be an ordeal… Fakir scoffed lightly as his scowl darkened before continuing down the road towards home. He heard the red-head's light footsteps as she ran to catch up before matching his pace. The young knight had no doubt that she was completely confused as to who his sister even was. He'd never really talked about his childhood with her or really anything about his past. 'I'm going to have to explain things to her at some point, aren't I,' he considered before sighing in annoyance, 'Great…'

Most of the walk back was silent up until they were just approaching the house. "I'm impressed you managed to find where I was," Fakir commented to his sister idly. "You can't hide anything from me, Fakir," she replied with a giggle. He really hoped that wasn't true because there were a number of things he didn't want her finding out about. Not just his feelings for Ahiru, but everything involving the story he was caught up in, too. "In our house there's still," the young knight started as he reached out for the door handle, but was cut off when it suddenly opened from the inside. Charon stepped out and smiled softly as he noticed his son, "Welcome back." The dark-haired teen smiled slightly in amusement as he turned to look over at Raetsel knowing the smith hadn't noticed her, and the older man followed his gaze. "It's been a while, Charon," the brown-haired woman greeted. His father stared at his adopted daughter and breathed in surprise, "Raetsel!" "Do you mind if I come in," the violet-eyed woman inquired as she walked up to the doorway.

The sandy haired man naturally had no problem and nodded before stepping back to allow the girl he'd partially raised to pass. However, before she fully crossed the threshold a soft patter of drumming caused the woman to freeze in confusion. Uzura was also in the room and she was curious about this new person to enter her life. "Who do you look good with-zura," the little puppet demanded. The young knight's sister gasped slightly in surprise at the sudden question, and the green-haired puppet soon reached her own mistaken conclusion. "A new love-love-zura," the little girl exclaimed gleefully before she started beating her drum again. "Could she be yours, Charon," Raetsel asked bemusedly, but both the smith and his son replied with a simultaneous head-shake of denial. The child-like puppet was not something that was easy to explain. She was family…and yet she wasn't. "Uzura is Uzura," Fakir stated vaguely as he cringed slightly at the persistent racket. He _really_ hated that drum.

Charon soon noticed Ahiru's presence and greeted her politely, "Good to see you again, Miss Ahiru." "Um, hello Charon-san," the diminutive ballerina replied politely, "It's nice to see you too." Fakir left his friend with the rest of his family to go upstairs to get changed out of his uniform. There was no risk of either of the two adults learning anything about how his feelings had changed from _her_ considering she was completely clueless. It was safe to leave her alone with them, so long as she remembered to keep quiet about all things story related. Thinking of that particular detail, he was quick about changing into his favorite outfit and returning to the kitchen. Raetsel had apparently set about making a pot of tea while the smith and the red-head chatted. "And then Pique told me to just do my best," the blue-eyed ballerina was saying as the young man walked back into the room. "It's good advice," the older man smiled. "Yeah," his young friend replied before hesitating a bit then sighing, "Only then I tripped and fell on my face and Mr. Katze got angry again."

"What are you even talking about," the young knight wondered as he sat down at the table. "Ah, Fakir," Ahiru whipped her head around in surprise before laughing uneasily, "Ah, I was just telling Charon-san about how class went today." "I see," he replied evenly before glancing over at his father and shrugging, "You don't need to stop on my account." "Eh," the red-haired girl blinked in confusion, "But you were there for part of it… Won't you be bored?" "You know full well how focused I am in class," the young man rolled his eyes with a slight smirk thrown her way, "There's a lot going on that I tend to miss. You, on the other hand, are so easily distracted that you catch those things when I don't." "I'm not sure if that was a compliment or an insult," the blue-eyed ballerina grumbled with a sulky look. Fakir's smirk widened, but he remained silent. Technically, it had been a backhanded compliment but he wasn't telling _her_ that. It was more fun to make her wonder.

"My son has a bad habit of teasing the people he is close to," Charon stated with an amused smile, "If he teases you this much then it means he's fond of you." "Eh," Ahiru yelped. "Charon," Fakir protested in irritation. Did the man _really_ have to reveal that little character trait of his? Now teasing his younger friend was going to just make him feel awkward and embarrassed. 'Thanks for spoiling one of the few bits of fun I get to have these days,' he grumbled internally as he looked away from the red-head's inquisitive stare. "It's nice to see you are making more friends," Raetsel observed as she poured the first cup of tea and set in on a tray before starting to pour a second cup, "I remember when the only friend you had was Mytho." "I'm still not the best at dealing with people," the young knight admitted reluctantly, "Ahiru's really the only other friend I have."

"That's too bad," his sister sighed as she brought over the tray and set the first two cups before him and the smith; she then returned to pour the last two for her and the diminutive ballerina as he continued, "I was hoping things would get better for you when you entered the Academy." "Oh yeah," the young man mused, "I haven't seen you since Mytho and I entered Goldkrone Academy, huh?" "That's right," the brown-haired woman replied as she carried the tray back over, "I was really lonely then." She then set one of the cups down in front of Ahiru with a polite, "Here you go." "Thanks," the red head replied shyly. Fakir noticed her whispering something to his friend, but couldn't quite make out what it was. All he knew was that whatever it was caused the last of the tension lingering in the blue-eyed girl to drain away…right before she started to spaz. "Big sister… I mean," she yelped, "It's not really like that, I…"

Fakir _did_ owe the girl a bit of an explanation of his actual relationship with the woman, and so started to speak. "After my parents died and Charon took me in," he clarified, "She was like a mother to me." He started to drink his tea when he heard Uzura ask, "Big sister is different from love-love-zura?" The young knight made a soft noise of conformation, but didn't otherwise respond. He was enjoying his tea. The little puppet started to continue, "Then Raetsel is love-love with Charon-zu…" The smith cut her off by slapping a hand over her mouth as she continued to try and talk and laughed lightly, "Come on, Uzura!" The dark-haired teen glanced over at the squirming puppet and sighed slightly in exasperation. She just wasn't letting this love thing go. "How flattering," Raetsel smiled, "Does it look like that?"

The indigo-eyed woman laughed softly and then finished quietly, "Wouldn't it be nice if that was true…" "You shouldn't tease your elders, you know," Charon scolded gently. "Treating me like a child, as usual," the young man's adopted sister countered, "I'm old enough that it wouldn't be strange to be getting married now, you know." Fakir and Ahiru looked on the two adults' interactions in growing confusion as the older man laughed lightly. "To me, you haven't changed at all," he told the woman he had raised, "Just like you were when you played around with Fakir and Mytho." The brown-haired woman rubbed lightly at the lipstick stain on her cup as the sandy-haired man spoke and the young knight could have sworn he saw a sad look flicker across her face. However, it had vanished before he could be sure. She then turned her attention to her younger sibling, "That's right! Where's Mytho?"

Both teens tensed slightly in response to that innocent question. "Oh, yeah, he's at school," the young man replied casually, "He's engrossed in ballet, after all." That was only partly true. The raven controlling his friend had continued with attending ballet lessons, and was quite good. However, it was also clearly only doing so for the sake of appearances and to be close to its prospective prey. Fakir tensed even more at Raetsel's next words as she reflected, "You always used to be with him, saying you'd protect him, too!" If there was one strain on his relationship with his surrogate older sister it was that she had never taken his devotion to Mytho seriously. She'd always treated it as though he had been playing a game with the ageless teen.

He couldn't entirely blame her as she was unaware of the story affecting the town, or how intimately both he and Mytho were involved with it. That didn't make her casual treatment of the matter any less irritating, though. "I _will_ protect him," the young knight snapped irately before pushing his temper back. He stood and glanced over at his sister as he inquired much more calmly, "You're spending the night, right?" "Don't worry," the indigo-eyed young woman assured him, "I'm planning on staying at the water mill." That made sense considering she knew full well it was going to have been legally turned over to him when he turned fifteen. Back when they had all lived together his younger self had promised her she could stay there whenever she wanted once he officially inherited the property. As that time had already come and gone, she was clearly taking him up on the offer he had made back then.

"Well then," Fakir stated calmly, "I'll walk you there." "Thank you," Raetsel smiled politely as she stood and looked over at Ahiru, "but I'd like to take a walk with Miss Ahiru." "Huh," the red-head jerked slightly in surprise, "With…me?" The young man frowned uneasily; he wasn't sure _why_ his surrogate sibling was so interested in his friend, and it made him anxious. The blue-eyed girl had no idea he was in love with her, so that particular secret was safe. However, she _did_ know about Mytho's situation and the story. If the woman asked the right questions it was possible that the younger teen would let something slip that he'd rather his sole remaining blood relative _not_ know. Yet he couldn't find any reason to object that would not raise questions about _why_ he was objecting.

"I see," he murmured while glancing at the startled ballerina, "If that's what you want." "Eh," the diminutive ballerina yelped before looking at him warily, "Is that really okay, Fakir?" "Why wouldn't it be," the young knight shrugged dismissively as he did his best to mask how uncomfortable he really was. He'd just have to hope that Ahiru could either keep her mouth shut or that Raetsel wouldn't think to ask her about the corrupted prince. The red-haired girl still looked uncertain, so he sighed and shot her a teasing grin, "It really is okay, idiot." "I'm not an idiot," the blue-eyed ballerina snapped back with an adorable scowl. His sister giggled in amusement at their interactions, "You are just so cute together." "It's not like that," they both protested simultaneously before staring at each other in surprise which only made the indigo-eyed woman laugh harder.

Once Raetsel calmed down, she and Ahiru left to walk towards the mill. To the young man's surprise, she'd taken the bouquet she'd bought with her. The way she had been acting when she bought it he had thought it was supposed to be a gift for Charon or something. Then again, their interaction at the table had been more than a little awkward. He got the feeling there was something he was missing, but he wasn't sure what. Fakir wondered briefly if it was worth it to head back to the bookstore to do more research before deciding against it. It wasn't as though he'd been having any luck and he was not eager to be faced with the mystery of the ending-less books again. It was inevitable considering he couldn't exactly stop his research without breaking his word to Mytho, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to put it off as long as possible.

Instead, he decided that he would practice his sword-work for a while and headed out to the stable to fetch the Lohengrin Sword. He'd hidden it out there after he'd caught Uzura messing with it one day. She _was_ a puppet, so it wasn't like she could accidentally kill herself. However, the edge was keen enough that she could still lose a limb or something. Not really fatal considering what she was, but also not something he wanted to have happen. She was human enough that such a thing was likely to be extremely traumatic. So he'd moved the blade and hidden it to keep it out of her reach. Unfortunately, Raetsel's question – and latter casual treatment – regarding Mytho and his relationship with the other teen had gotten him thinking about everything again. By the time he reached the stable, and fetched the blade, his doubt and depression had already started to take him over once more.

Parsival had offered a friendly whicker when his human walked in and the young knight was not so far gone in his depression that he neglected to offer an equally friendly pat on the neck. The gelding lipped at the young man's hair which prompted a mock irritated scowl from the teen. "I don't know why you keep doing that," he muttered as he scratched the horse on his forehead which prompted the equine to half-close his eyes in sheer bliss, "You can't eat my hair and you know it. Silly animal…" Fakir drew back after a few more seconds of scratching to retrieve his sword, yet once he had the blade he hesitated and sighed. He may have _intended_ to practice, but now that he had retrieved his sword he found that his motivation had faded. Instead he flopped back down into the straw piled in the corner of the stable and lay back to stare blankly at the ceiling for a few moments as he tried _not_ to brood. Lohengrin's sword rested on the straw next to him and the increasingly dejected teen picked it up, held it over his head, and stared at it pensively. He gave into his natural inclination at last.

'Protect him, huh,' the young knight mused in frustration, 'How do I protect him? Who is it that I have to fight? Kraehe, the Raven, Mytho himself? I don't know anymore.' He reflected on Mytho's plea for salvation from the raven's blood infecting his heart, and the false Mytho's insistence that the young man no longer had a reason to be involved in matters. That his role in the story was over and done with; naturally, he was inclined to go along with the desires of the true prince and not the raven controlling him. Yet that didn't mean the raven had been entirely wrong. 'The battle is beginning,' Fakir admitted as he gazed up at his blade, 'The story is progressing…whether I'm there or not. But besides my sword I have…nothing.' Though that might not be entirely true; the incident with the ghost knight certainly indicated that he may possess some sort of ability to connect with unfinished stories. Yet as he considered that he tensed as a surge of terror pulsed through him and he sat up sharply. Whatever that power was it gave him a bad feeling and he _didn't want it!_ 'I will protect Mytho,' he vowed once more, 'With this sword."

Seconds after reaffirming his promise, the door to the stable opened and Ahiru burst through with an eager, "There you are!" Fakir looked up at her in confusion over what she was doing back already as she panted for breath. Had she run all the way back from the mill? What could have driven her to _do_ something like that? He didn't have long to wait to find out. "Fakir," she exclaimed once she caught her breath, "I heard from Raetsel-san that the stories you write come true!" The young man stiffened in shock as her words sent another surge of terror racing through him and his memory pitched in by dredging up something he had long forgotten; the frenzied cries of a conspiracy of ravens and his parents' agonized screams. "What," he whispered tensely as more and more memory fragments flickered through his mind. "If you really have that power," the red-head continued obliviously, "Then if you wrote a story where Mytho is saved…"

She trailed off as the increasingly traumatized young knight surged to his feet with his head still bowed. "Fakir," she inquired concernedly. "What are you talking about," he ground out in a deceptively calm tone. Ahiru clearly had no idea why he was so upset, but tried to clarify. She had no idea that her words would fully open the floodgates holding back his repressed childhood memories. "Well," she explained uncertainly, "I heard that when you were little, the stories you wrote came true, so…" Fakir's pupils contracted sharply as the barrier his mind had erected out of self-defense years ago suddenly failed and he began to remember it all. Why his parents had died, why he was so uneasy about writing anything more than schoolwork, and _why_ he most likely was able to see the end of the ghost knight's story. They were all connected because the red-head's words were absolutely true. His stories _had_ possessed the power to affect reality…and it was a power he despised above everything else because of what it had taken from him. One he had desperately tried to forget and had buried long ago along with all memories associated with it.

"Be quiet," Fakir ordered quietly as he struggled against the desire to just shut down under the flood of traumatic memories that were swamping him. Ahiru recoiled slightly at the sheer iciness of his voice, but still she tried to protest, "Huh? But Mytho…" "Shut up," he snapped before squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He needed to get inside before his resistance failed entirely, and he could feel himself faltering already. The shaken young man walked forward briskly and shoved passed the red-haired girl's stunned form. "Shut up," she repeated incredulously as he walked away, "But… Why are you talking to me like that?" The young knight ignored her as he focused almost entirely on moving forward. It was taking everything he had to keep from collapsing on the spot and curling into a ball. "If I could do something to save Mytho," the diminutive ballerina persisted as she followed him back to the door of his home, "I wouldn't ask you to do this, Fakir!"

He managed to register those words and paused momentarily after opening the door. He just barely managed to focus long enough to hear what she said next, "But right now I can't do anything, so…" Normally, he would have been more understanding because he honestly felt the same way. However, his memories were doing a far more effective job of torturing him than the ravens ever had and he was so very close to breaking. So he lashed out at the one person he loved more than anything. "I told you to be quiet," he snarled viciously as he glared back at her over his shoulder before continuing coldly, "I will protect Mytho as a knight. I won't take orders from you!" Fakir then slammed the door shut behind him before falling back against it and sliding to the ground as his resistance failed. He started to breathe heavily as he stared blankly at the ground while clinging with a white-knuckled grip to his sword. He could no longer see or hear anything other than his lost memories playing out before his eyes. The young knight was lost in the grips of a post-traumatic flashback.

 _ **At five years old, Fakir was a precocious child. He already knew how to read simple books and was just starting to get the hang of writing. His parents were extremely proud of him, yet his father was somewhat uneasy at how strong the boy's affinity for stories was. His own parents had watched him carefully when he was young and just learning how to read and write. He had never displayed a particular affinity for such things, though, and they had relaxed. When he was older they had told him that their family occasionally manifested a particular talent. The ability to write stories that could become real. It was regarded as a cursed ability because of the damage a long dead patriarch of the bloodline had caused before his death.**_

 _ **It had been so severe, and his children and grandchildren had been so deeply ashamed, that they had changed their surname and struck the old man's name from their family tree. When children were born they were watched carefully for any signs of this budding ability and then carefully guided away from writing. It was safer that way, his parents had told him, for everyone involved. It was for the best. Now his own son was displaying some of the signs his parents had warned him about and he was worried. Could Fakir possess this accursed power? If he did…what should he do about it? Somehow, it seemed wrong to him to suppress his son's natural talent even if it**_ _ **was**_ _ **supposedly dangerous. The five-year old was so happy when he was reading, though, and his wife was so proud of his intelligence. Surely there was no harm in letting him do as he wished for the moment.**_

 _ **Six months later, Fakir wrote his first story. It was a silly little tale about a family of mice living in the walls of an old home and their conflict with the cat that lived with the family of people who owned the place. It ended with everyone becoming friends in the end. Basically, it was the sort of thing you would expect a child to write, and that should have been the end of it. Yet some days later, rumors started to spread about how one family's cat had stopped hunting the mice in the house and merely purred contentedly when they scampered across the floor. The family had resolved the problem by adopting a second cat who had no qualms about decimating the mouse population. The ineffective cat was passed off to a neighbor who loved cats and was such a neat freak that his house didn't have that many mice. Oddly enough, the formerly ineffective cat resumed her remorseless persecution of the few mice that**_ _ **did**_ _ **live in the neighbor's house. It was only the mice in her old home she wouldn't harm. Strange as it was, most of the townsfolk thought nothing of it. The only one to be bothered by the rumor was Fakir's father. It matched part of the story his son had written. Yet he still did nothing to restrain the boy's writing. All he did was warn the child to be more careful about what he wrote. The five-year old didn't really understand why, but still agreed cheerfully.**_

 _ **More time passed, and the boy continued to write. His father started to notice a pattern where bits and pieces of the child's stories would come true. They were harmless things. A dog who had been notorious for his absolute hatred of cats suddenly befriending a specific feline. He would still attack all other cats, but his favorite cat would always remain unmolested to the point that the dog would defend him from all other dogs in town. A duckling in one of the parks who had been left behind when her family moved to another pond miraculously found her way to the right pond in spite of her having no knowledge of where it was. True, the duckling had nearly died several times making the crossing from one park to another, but she'd still made it. All were things that could easily be explained away yet Fakir's father knew what was behind all of them. His son's stories were changing reality. Because the stories he wrote were happy little things with barely any conflict worth speaking of this wasn't really a problem. What worried his father was what would happen as the boy grew older and started learning more about how stories worked. He knew his child was a good little boy who only wanted everyone around him to be happy. With any luck he would stay that way. The man resolved not to act unless it looked as though one of his son's stories might cause harm.**_

 _ **Fakir's godfather, Charon, had stopped by for a visit with his adopted daughter, Raetsel, just after the boy turned six. "So have you written anything new," the smith asked his godson with a smile. "Yeah," the six-year old nodded eagerly, "About a bird who loved to sing and whose songs made everyone who heard them happy!" "That sounds nice," the fourteen year old girl smiled down at the little boy, "Can I read it?" "Sure," the little boy chirped before running off to grab his new story. "He's such a bright child," the sandy-haired man observed as he turned to the boy's parents, "And has such a vivid imagination. You must be very proud." "Oh, we are," his mother nodded with a fond smile, "He has so much talent! I wouldn't be surprised if he grew up to become a famous author someday." "Providing he doesn't develop a fondness for tragedies," his father mumbled grimly. Charon gave his childhood friend a puzzled look before turning to the man's wife inquisitively. "He's convinced that Fakir's stories are becoming real and is worried about the consequences," the woman replied dismissively.**_

" _ **I have a very good reason for my concern," Fakir's father protested in an insulted tone, "I told you, that power runs in my family and it has a very nasty history from what my parents used to tell me when I was young." The smith requested a run-down and listened intently as his friend complied with his request. "I can see why you might be worried," the sandy-haired man confessed, "But surely you realize Fakir would never fall into that sort of behavior. He's got a good heart." "I know," the other man sighed, "That's why I haven't done anything. I still can't help worrying though." "Hopefully Fakir didn't end up inheriting that from you as well, dear," his wife teased. "Ha, ha," her husband replied drily, "Very funny, love." Further conversation was cut off by an eager Fakir returning with the two pieces of paper his story was written on which he all but shoved into Raetsel's hands. "Read it," the little boy demanded. The three adults chuckled as the amused teenager obeyed; the six-year old could be quite insistent sometimes.**_

 _ **Ten months passed and Goldkrone was in trouble. A plague of ravens had infested the town and were terrorizing the inhabitants. People couldn't leave their homes without risking being attacked by the bird-like demons and cut to ribbons. Several people had already been killed and a few lucky others managed to escape with only being badly wounded. Fakir was unaware of the fatalities that had occurred as his parents had been very careful not to bring them up around him. Yet he did know that they were being hurt, and that bothered the almost seven-year old child. He wanted to help somehow. He wanted to make the ravens go away and he spent weeks puzzling over what he could do. He was still only a little boy after all. It wasn't until a week after his seventh birthday that he had an idea. The boy could write a story and get rid of the ravens that way!**_

 _ **He'd started reading adventure stories over the past year and had become enamored of the image of the heroic knight. 'Maybe,' the child mused as he stared out the window at the ravens flying overhead, 'I can write a story about myself. I can make myself into a hero and defeat all the ravens all on my own! Mama and Papa would be so proud of me!' His mind was made up. He would start writing a new story with himself as the hero. He knew full well that his stories sometimes came true. His father had talked to him about it six months ago and warned him to be very careful much as he had when the boy had been only five. Now that he knew why, he put far more effort into making sure nobody would be hurt by what he wrote. He kept his stories happy and conflict free even though he thought it made them a bit boring. Now, though, now he had a good reason to write an adventure story like the ones he read.**_

 _ **Fakir fetched his quill, inkpot, and a piece of paper before settling down at the dining room table. "Are you writing another story, dear," his mother asked as she poked her head in from the kitchen. "Uh huh," the little boy nodded. "Show it to me when you're done, all right," she requested as she went back to what she was doing, "I love reading your stories." "Okay, Mama," the seven-year old agreed. She was**_ _ **really**_ _ **going to like this story since it was going to save the town. Slowly and painstakingly, he started to write. "Once upon a time," he mouthed silently as he wrote, "there was a quiet town full of happy people. They had little to worry about and went about their days in peace. Then one day a cloud of evil ravens came to town. They didn't like how everyone was happy and peaceful. They attacked the people of the down and drove them into their homes. They couldn't go out without the ravens going after them and many people got hurt when they had no choice but to go out for food and things. No one was happy anymore and the people lived in fear of the ravens which made them very happy. This was what they had wanted."**_

 _ **Fakir paused and thought carefully about what he wanted to write next. This was the important bit that should give him the strength he needed to take care of the ravens swarming the town. He had to get it exactly right. He then resumed his narration once he made up his mind of what he wanted to have happen next, "But there was one person in town who was not afraid. A young boy named Fakir was angry at the ravens for making everyone sad and refused to give in to fear like everyone else. He told everyone who would listen that it was silly to be afraid of the ravens. 'I am a child,' he said to anyone who would listen, 'And I'm not afraid. Why won't you stand up and fight them? The ravens can be defeated if you are willing to fight back!' The people still weren't willing to fight and the boy grew upset. 'Fine,' he declared at last, 'I'll fight them by myself if I have to!' Fakir challenged the ravens and they grew angry at his lack of fear. They all came after him at once, but the boy was still not afraid. He fought back and defeated all of the ravens that had attacked his home town easily. They weren't so tough after all. The people were amazed by his victory and were so very grateful to him for saving them all. He had become a hero, peace had returned to the town, and everyone lived happily ever after."**_

 _ **Fakir was certain that his story would let him defeat the ravens and smiled happily as he drew his story to a close. Yet the second he lifted his pen after writing the final word everything went wrong. The part that came true…wasn't the part he wanted. He was hoping that his story would make him into a hero strong enough to fight the ravens. Instead it called all the ravens in town to attack him in his own home with him still a powerless little boy. The bird-like demons crashed through the window and fell upon the frightened seven-year old who only had just enough time to scream before they were on him. By all rights, he should have died then but his parents were both in the next room and they did not hesitate to act to save their son. "Fakir," his father cried as he charged the ravens with an old sword clutched in his hand, "Hang on, son!" "Get away from my baby," his mother shouted as she shoved passed the ravens and pulled her terrified child into her arms before trying to run for the door.**_

 _ **Yet the ravens would not be denied. They wanted blood and they would have it one way or the other. The bird-like demons fell upon his Fakir's father first and swiftly overwhelmed him for the man was not experienced at wielding a blade. Nor was the weapon he was using particularly sharp. However, he still tried to fight back long enough to give his wife and son a chance to escape. Sadly, his efforts were for nothing and he soon fell lifelessly to the ground; his deathly pale flesh cut to ribbons by the ravens' razor-like feathers and claws. He'd never stood a chance. One obstacle taken care of the ravens turned their attention to the fleeing woman and child. She fell even faster than her husband for she had no weapon to defend herself. Yet even as their vicious beaks and talons ripped into her, she continued to shield her son with her own body. Even though she knew it would cost her life she would not let them harm her child. Poor Fakir was powerless to do anything but watch as his parents sacrificed themselves to save his life.**_

 _ **The ravens did not stick around long after Fakir's mother fell sheltering her son and flew back out the window they shattered. The stunned child was pinned under his mother's lifeless body and simply stared blankly into space as his mind shut down under the horror he had witnessed. Only one thought repeated itself over and over. 'They're gone,' his guilt ridden brain repeated endlessly, 'My parents are dead. Why? This wasn't supposed to happen. Why did they have to die?' Eventually, Charon and several of his family's neighbors came in and gasped in horror at the sight that met them. It was the smith who found the dazed boy lying under his dead mother and pulled him out before carrying him back to the others. "At least Fakir survived this tragedy," one of the neighbors sighed in relief before looking at him sympathetically, "Poor little guy. Looks like he's in shock." "He just saw his parents killed in front of him," one of the others shot back scornfully, "Of course, he's in shock." Fakir shuddered as the word 'killed' registered and his godfather set the traumatized child down where he stood unsteadily.**_

 _ **As the older man embraced his godson, the boy stared at his parents' shredded corpses and shuddered again as a new thought entered his mental mantra, 'My parents are dead because of me. My story did this. This is my fault. I killed my own parents. It should have been me lying dead on the floor…not them… It's all my fault…' Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he fainted dead away as everything just became too much for him to handle. His mind and body had completely shut down in a desperate attempt to cope. When next he awoke he remembered nothing of his ability to create stories that could become real or of how his parents had died. He still knew they were dead, but the how had been completely blocked out. In order to shield itself from the crushing guilt and self-loathing his actions had caused, his mind had blocked out not only the memory of their deaths but all memories of the times he had used the power that had caused it. All that remained was a lingering sense of guilt that would never entirely go away, and a strong aversion to writing stories.**_

Charon had stumbled across his son's shell-shocked form and rapidly knelt next to him in concern. "Fakir, can you hear me," he called softly as he lightly grasped the young man's shoulder, "Fakir?!" The traumatized teen cringed away from the sudden physical contact, but didn't respond further. The memories just wouldn't stop repeating and he was starting to hyperventilate as the stress they were causing built. The smith realized Fakir needed to calm down before the shock he was experiencing drove him completely mad. The older man recalled that he had an old phonograph stashed in the attic along with some old music cylinders. Perhaps that would be enough to call his son back to reality. The man hesitated no longer and set about retrieving the machine and its attachments, bringing them back down to the kitchen, setting it all up, and set it playing. The soothing melody of the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata sounded out through the room and, gradually, the young knight started to relax.

The first sign that he was coming out of his shocked state was a deep shuddering breath before he curled in on himself even more. "Fakir," Charon tried again, "Can you hear me?" Slowly, the young man nodded in reply before muttering hoarsely, "Give me a minute…" He took several more deep breaths before uncurling and leaning back against the door with his eyes shut. He looked utterly exhausted. "Are you all right," the smith asked uneasily, "Why where you in such a state?" "I remembered something I would have rather not have," the shaken teen replied quietly without opening his eyes, "And I wasn't able to handle it. I…can't really talk about it right now. I'm sorry…" "Don't be," the older man soothed, "Whatever it was clearly gave you quite a shock. Take all the time you need." "Thank you," the young knight murmured as he cracked his eyes open slightly to reveal they were still a bit glazed before shakily struggling to his feet. "Are you sure you should be standing," the sandy-haired man cautiously, "You still don't look that good."

"I'll be fine," Fakir shot his father a weak smile before his face fell back into an exhausted expression, "I'm going up to my room for a bit. I just…really need to be alone for a while…" Charon nodded slowly and watched as the shaken young man unsteadily made his way for the staircase in the hallway. If he had known just what it was the teen had recalled he would have been far more concerned and far less willing to leave his son alone. Witnessing his parents' deaths at such a young age had been far more damaging than anyone could have guessed. His young mind had never truly recovered from the shock he had experienced back then. The scars had never healed, but since he didn't remember the incident he was shielded from feeling it. Now that shield was gone and he was struggling to come to terms with it all. The one upside was he was in a much better state to cope with the trauma as he had matured considerably since the incident took place. Yet the damage was not going to go away anytime soon. Perhaps it never would.

Fakir managed to make it up to his room and staggered over to the shelf running under his window before sitting heavily on the ground. He leaned back against the books resting on the built in piece of furniture and groaned in exhaustion. The young knight was no longer trapped in his memories, but that didn't mean they had faded away. They were still lurking in the back of his mind; haunting him. He soon realized he was still clutching his sword desperately and leaned it on the shelf he was sitting against. The teen winced as his hand cramped in protest of being clenched for so long, and he started to rub it idly as he mentally prodded the memories that had overwhelmed him. They didn't seem particularly inclined to do so again without some sort of trigger and he relaxed slightly. At least he didn't have to worry about them creeping up on him at random.

However, his relief soon gave way to a crushing sense of despair. He was directly responsible for his parents' deaths. How was he supposed to live with that?! The young man moaned softly as he allowed his head to fall forward as he gave into his self-loathing. Under the circumstances, he felt he deserved to feel miserable. 'I really _can't_ do anything right,' he admitted to himself bitterly, 'I never could. It isn't the story that's making me fail…it's my own incompetence.' He lost all track of time as he wallowed in despair and ended up sitting motionlessly with his head resting on his folded hands for several hours. It wasn't until evening that he finally stirred slightly as a sense of foreboding surged through him. Seconds later his memory decided to screw with him even more and threw Ahiru's words from when earlier back at him. When she had claimed she wouldn't ask him to write if she didn't feel useless to help Mytho herself… "What is this awful feeling," he muttered before he scowled bitterly, "The power to make stories come true? A power like that, in me…" Denial had worked for him as a coping mechanism for years, so it was no surprise that he fell back on it once more as he whispered harshly, "What nonsense!"

He vaguely registered Uzura's love chant as he muttered to himself, but didn't react to it. The little puppet would do what she would do and he wasn't going to bother scolding her anymore. There was no point. Fakir would have continued to ignore her except that she suddenly called out his name, and he raised his head as she burst through his door. "Could it be that Mytho is love-love with Raetsel-zura," the little girl asked cheerfully. The young knight immediately snapped out of his mopey state at that. The one thing that would always be stronger than his depression was his desire to protect. Even if he was useless at it and always had been, that part of him would not be denied. 'The Raven Prince is going after my sister,' he realized grimly, 'I won't let this stand!' The dark-haired young man slowly reached out and grabbed his sword before standing. "Where are they," he demanded quietly. The green-haired puppet looked up at the grim teen in bewilderment, but replied, "I saw ravens by the water mill-zura. Ahiru said Mytho and Raetsel were there before she changed and ran off-zura." As relieved as he was to hear that Ahiru was already there, Fakir was still determined to act. He was a knight and so he would do what he could to protect those he cared for.

The young knight rushed out of his home with his sword clutched in his hand and promptly started to race straight for the old mill. As much as he trusted Ahiru to do everything she could to save Raetsel, she was his _family!_ He'd never forgive himself if the red-haired ballerina was unable to reach his sister in time and the false Mytho actually managed to claim her heart! If he had to he'd fight the corrupted prince himself to buy the magical ballerina as much time as she needed to break through the raven's spell; even if it killed him. Soon enough, the young man caught sight of a familiar black shadow that looked vaguely like a wing. He could also hear voices speaking. As he drew near he realized the one currently talking was his surrogate sibling and his eyes widened as he registered her words. "I may still be in love with Charon," he heard her admit brokenly as he drew near, "When I think that, being with him is so hard and so painful!" "Charon," he gasped in shock as he emerged onto the street the confrontation was taking place on. He gaped slightly as it registered that the indigo-eyed woman was wearing a wedding dress and veil. Just what was going on?!

Fakir could only watch as the pillar of ravens burst out of the ground below Raetsel and carried her into the air as she cried out despairingly, "I don't want to doubt myself anymore!" That was a sentiment he was painfully familiar with, but he had never realized it had been tormenting her as well. He hadn't realized the woman had possessed such strong feelings for the one who had raised them both, but it explained much of her odd behavior since she'd arrived. It also explained why she had moved out after he left to attend the Academy. She couldn't bear to be alone with the man who continued to ignore her feelings. "Raetsel," Fakir whispered sadly. He realized this was something he wasn't going to be able to help with. The young knight was even more prone to giving in to such feelings than his sister was. There was no way he'd be able to pull _her_ out when he couldn't even pull _himself_ out. He was going to have to rely on Ahiru's boundless hope. After all, it had worked wonders on him in the past. Perhaps it would be enough to save his surrogate sibling as well.

Fakir continued to observe uneasily as matters progressed. "That's right," the Raven Prince declared triumphantly, "If you love only me…" "If I love only Mytho," Raetsel repeated faintly. "That's not right," Ahiru protested as she continued to dance, "That's a mistake, Raetsel-san!" "You should love only me," the false Mytho snarled over the magical ballerina, "And hate everything else!" Yet the red-head was not deterred and she scooped up the veil that had fallen from the woman's head when the ravens had raised her up before continuing to dance. "Both of those are your true emotions," she insisted before challenging the distraught woman, "But is what you're trying to get right now also a true emotion?" "True and false have nothing to do with it," the corrupted prince yelled angrily, "It is just loving someone because you want to be loved! That's why she is lost in doubt over to whom she loves…" The blue-eyed ballerina cut the raven off fiercely as she proclaimed, "That pain is how you really feel! Open your eyes! You want to be happy with the person you love the most, right?"

The raven pillar that had been carrying his sister ever closer to where the Raven Prince stood suddenly froze as she started to cry and sat up. "I weighed their loves against each other for the sake of my own happiness," the brown-haired woman admitted sorrowfully, "In order to escape the pain of my doubt, I wanted Fakir to write a story for me!" Fakir stiffened at this admission as the tormented woman continued before burying her face in her hands, "Even though I knew it would hurt him! I'm a horrible person…" "Everyone wants the person they love to love them back," Ahiru insisted as she danced on, "It's not bad to feel that way! I'm sure it's painful to be lost between the two. But even if you run away from it, you won't be able to escape the pain!" Somehow those last words managed to reach Raetsel and the pillar started to lower her back to the ground as she sobbed quietly. "You," the false Mytho snarled angrily at being thwarted before screaming, "Should simply love only me! Raetsel!"

The young knight had looked on long enough. Raetsel was safe for the moment, but the Raven Prince had still crossed a line and that was not something Fakir was going to just let go. He stepped between the two females and his corrupted friend with his sheathed sword held out in front of him as he glared furiously at the other young man. "Mytho," he snarled," I won't allow you to hurt Raetsel!" A half-maddened chuckle escaped the tainted prince as an insane smile crossed his face and he exclaimed harshly, "How interesting!" The dark-haired young man tensed as a blue-black flame burst out of the pillar at the raven's feet and spiraled up around his body before solidifying into a dark version of the Prince's sword. Slowly, the false Mytho descended to the ground before spinning gracefully into his stance with yet another chuckle. Malachite green eyes narrowed as their owner grasped the hilt of his blade in preparation for his possessed friend's attack. "Stop," Ahiru suddenly cried out from behind him, "You two shouldn't be fighting!"

As nice a sentiment as that was it wasn't exactly realistic. The raven controlling the prince wanted the green-eyed teen dead and was willing to do whatever he could to bring that about. Including strike him down personally. Fakir knew that, the raven knew that, and the red-haired ballerina was the only one who didn't seem to get it. Before she could protest further, though, the Raven Prince summoned a circle of raven warriors to surround the unconscious form of his sister and the magical ballerina supporting her. Clearly, the corrupted prince intended for them to fight without interference from _that_ quarter. The young knight glanced back at the two females in concern before turning back to face his possessed friend. "Mytho," he demanded quietly, "Using Raetsel like that… Don't you feel anything?"

The raven gave that half-maddened chuckle again before declaring as he launched into a pirouette to attack, "I was trying to save her!" The possessed young man swung at the taller teen's head, but Fakir's reactions were still sharp. He bent backwards into a handspring and gracefully flipped back out of range before falling back into his ready stance. However, before he could react further, he was caught off guard when his ankles were seized by two raven warriors that partially emerged from the ground. Typical for a raven to cheat like that, but it did mean he wasn't going to be able to dodge the next attack. As the Raven Prince leapt high into the air to strike down at the trapped young man, the young knight tensed and tightened his grip on the hilt. He was going to have to try something risky.

He vaguely registered Ahiru calling out his name on concern, but was more focused on timing the raven's descent…and swiftly drawing his sword to slice into the warriors holding him in place before swinging his blade back up in time to block the raven's strike! "Trying to save her," the malachite eyed teen snarled incredulously as he strained to hold the block, "Don't be so selfish!" "Well then," the false Mytho taunted before snarling, "What can _you_ do? Worthless knights shouldn't talk big!" He then sprang backward and spun back into his own ready stance. Fakir grasped Lohengrin's sword tightly as he grimly acknowledged that this was going to be a fight for his very life; more so than any other before. The Raven Prince didn't just want him dead…he _loathed_ the very sight of him. "How pathetic you are," the raven mocked with a cruel smile before launching into a rapid series of attacks, "How long do you mean to go on shaming yourself wielding a sword that is little more than decoration?!" The young knight barely managed to dodge each one and didn't even have time to strike back. Then again, he didn't really want to. Harming Mytho's body was not his goal.

Again, the young knight heard Ahiru cry out but didn't register her words. Simply surviving the Raven Prince's vicious attacks was taking all of his focus. Fakir finally managed to bring up his sword to block the last strike and strained to hold in in place. "You can't even make yourself hurt me," the raven declared gleefully. "This sword isn't for striking you down," the dark-haired teen countered tensely before turning his sword to show his corrupted friend what he had become, "Wake up! Remember your true self!" The white-haired young man gasped and staggered backward as his eyes suddenly started to flicker between red and gold. His desperate attempt actually seemed to be working and the green-eyed young man's expression softened as he called out to the other teen, "Mytho…" "Stop it," the now golden eyed teen pleaded weakly before his head fell forward and he started to shake. "Shut up," the trembling young man growled lowly and lashed his sword out to the side before repeating more loudly, "Shut up!" Uneasily, the young knight watched to see who would win the struggle between the raven and his prince. He hoped that Mytho would be strong enough to prove victorious even though he knew such a victory was likely to be only temporary. He just needed to know that his friend was still in there and still fighting!

However, it was not to be. " _Shut up_ ," the false Mytho screamed as he suddenly lunged forward. Fakir desperately tried to bring his sword up to block the maddened blow and half-succeeded. Yet he hadn't managed to tighten his grip enough, and he winced as his blade flew from his hand. Before he could move to retrieve it another raven warrior materialized behind him and pinned his arms back before forcing him to kneel on the ground. At the same time, the Raven Prince screamed furiously as he raised his sword over his head to strike the final blow. The dark-haired young man swallowed hard as he realized that this was it. He was going to die at the hands of his possessed friend yet he could feel nothing but sorrow. He grieved the pain he knew his prince would suffer knowing that he had struck down his friend. He grieved that he had failed to save his friend. Most of all, he grieved over leaving Ahiru to face whatever may come on her own. Yet he did not look away as the dark blade descended. He was not afraid to die – even though it broke his heart – and would face his end head on.

"Fakir," Ahiru screamed in horror. Yet before that final blow could connect the dark blade stopped inches away from the young knight's tense grimace and started to shake. Fakir gasped faintly as he realized the other teen's eyes had once again flashed gold. Mytho choked weakly as he staggered backwards before gasping harshly, "Stop! Don't hurt Fakir, you raven!" The raven warrior that had been restraining the malachite-eyed young man suddenly dissolved and he looked up at his friend hopefully, "Mytho?" "Run," the white-haired teen ordered desperately before a black whirlwind swirled up around him, "Don't… Don't come near me!" Seconds later he vanished as his strained grunts and gasps continued to echo around them for a few moments longer. "Mytho," the red head breathed sadly as the ravens surrounding her dissolved as well. For the moment, the battle was over though the dark-haired knight was unwilling to call it a victory.

A faint grunt emitted from the formerly unconscious woman resting in the ballerina's lap reminding the teen that it hadn't been a total loss either. "Raetsel," he murmured as he turned to look at her in concern and swiftly walked over before kneeling next to her. At least she was safe. "Raetsel," he repeated softly as he met her sorrowful gaze. "Fakir," she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes, "I'm sorry. I…I…I was only thinking of myself. I forgot everything but my desire to escape my pain… I tried to do something that would hurt you… I'm sorry." Fakir looked down at her with a gentle smile as he told her, "It's all right. It's not your fault, Raetsel." His sister's tears finally spilled over as she fell back into an exhausted slumber. At least she knew he didn't blame her for all that had happened that day. "Even though Raetsel was suffering so much," Ahiru murmured softly, "She said this to me. 'Be gentle with Fakir,' she said. Raetsel-san didn't want to hurt you, did she?"

The young knight didn't look away from his surrogate sibling as the girl he loved spoke. It was true that Raetsel had been the one to tell the diminutive ballerina about the past he had forgotten. It was true that if she hadn't done so, the blue-eyed girl wouldn't have come to him begging for him to write a story to save Mytho. It was true that if the red head hadn't done so he wouldn't have remembered the trauma he had buried so long ago. Yet he realized he wasn't angry with either of them. He couldn't be. Ahiru hadn't known any better and he was well over his old habit of getting angry with her for being ignorant. It wasn't fair to her. As for his sister, she had been desperate, suffering, and drowning in her own despair. Fakir knew what that felt like more than anyone and so he couldn't be mad at her for it. His depression was gone for the moment, and so he could think clearly. In that moment, it occurred to him that maybe there _was_ something more he could do than simply fight. It would be hard and would be far more painful than anything else he had undertaken up till now, yet for Mytho's sake… Perhaps he should at least try. The young man suddenly stood and turned away much to the magical ballerina's surprise. "Fakir," she exclaimed quietly. "Take care of Raetsel," he requested softly before walking away. He didn't bother to retrieve the Lohengrin sword. Somehow…he got the feeling he wasn't going to be using it anymore.

Fakir ignored both Charon and Uzura once he got back home and headed straight for his room. With a shaky sigh he pulled out an old quill, an inkpot, and several sheets of paper and laid them on the desk-like portion of the shelf that ran under his window. He then turned up the lamp resting on the wooden surface before sitting down and leaning slightly forward on his crossed arms as he stared down at the paper lying there innocently. His memories started to stir in the back of his mind and he brought one hand up to his forehead as he shut his eyes to reflect over everything that had happened. He remembered Ahiru's words just before he'd left her and Raetsel behind, he remembered Mytho's struggle to prevent the raven inside him from harming his knight, and he remembered the girl he loved simultaneously pleading with him to write a story to save their friend and admitting to her own feelings of helplessness; of being useless. "What," he murmured softly, "Can I do…"

The newly recalled memory of his younger self staring blankly at his parents' corpses flashed once more across his mind's eye. Only this time, Fakir did not fall back into the shocked state that had overwhelmed him earlier. He still felt the same pain and horror he had earlier when those memories returned but this time… This time he fought them back and his eyes slid open slowly. They then widened in realization as he finally picked up the old quill. "That's right," he murmured softly as he started to write, "I used to have the power to change things. I can write Mytho's story and _change the ending_ …" 'I don't know if this will even work,' the young man admitted to himself as he hesitantly spun forth word after word, 'I don't know if this will make things better, worse, or not affect anything at all. Still…I have to try.' He wrote and wrote occasionally pausing as he struggled to force back the memories of his parents' deaths. It took him most of the night, but he finally finished the story. He sighed in relief before his eyes fell shut and he fell forward on his desk in a deep sleep.

The next morning his return to awareness was slow. At first all he noticed was that his back ached fiercely and he drowsily wondered why. Then he heard Charon's surprised voice from outside and woke up fully as his words registered. "Raetsel," the man had said. Fakir staggered to his feet and picked up the story he had written before running down the stairs. He had to see if his sister was doing any better than she had been the night before! "Raetsel," the young man called as he ran outside before his eyes widened in surprise as he noticed a strange man standing behind her along with Ahiru. Raetsel smiled at her younger sibling kindly as she asked, "Oh, did you write a story for me?" The dark-haired teen shifted slightly at that, but didn't actually respond. He _had_ written a story, and it _had_ been in part because of his surrogate sibling that he had written it…yet it wasn't about her. It was about Mytho.

"Charon," the brown-haired woman was saying, "I…I'm going to marry Hans." The red-head looking on gasped in surprise as the smith replied kindly, "Is that right? Congratulations." "Raetsel," the green-eyed young man murmured in disbelief at how fast her feelings had cleared up. "You see," the indigo-eyed woman admitted, "I think I wanted to properly say goodbye to you, Charon." She then reached out and pulled the story the startled knight was still holding loosely out of his unresisting grasp as he finished, "But I'll take this. Thank you." "I didn't write about you," Fakir confessed quietly, "Whatever decisions you came to were all your own." "Even then," Raetsel told him with a soft smile, "I used to love reading your stories. I'm glad you are able to write again, Fakir. You have a real gift for story-telling." "Mm," the young man smiled back faintly, "Take care…"

Ahiru moved to stand next to her taller friend as he watched his sister walk away thoughtfully. Charon had already headed back indoors, so it was just the two of them. "The story didn't come true, did it," she asked hesitantly. "I guess it didn't," he replied with a faint smile. He wasn't too upset by that surprisingly enough. It wasn't as though he even knew what he was doing. It would take time and effort to discover if he still possessed the same ability, though the fact that he had seen the ending of the ghost knight's tale gave him some hope that at least some remnant lingered within him. "I thought I'd try writing," Fakir admitted softly as the red-head suddenly turned to look at him in surprise. "What," she inquired with a wide eyed gaze. "Mytho's story," he concluded with a soft smile. The blue-eyed girl smiled up at him in relief, "I'm glad…"

"Oh," he murmured quietly as he turned to look down at her, "That I'm willing to give writing a try now?" "Well, not exactly…. It's just that you were so upset yesterday," the diminutive ballerina started to ramble guiltily, "and I didn't understand why at first but then Raetsel told me about what happened to your parents and I felt really bad for even bringing it up. I never meant to hurt you like that, Fakir…" While it had certainly been painful and traumatizing to remember everything all at once like that, the young man didn't want her to blame herself for something that wasn't really her fault. "You didn't know," he smiled gently, "I can't really get mad at you for not knowing any better. Besides…I'm mostly over it…" "Mostly," Ahiru suddenly looked concerned. "It _was_ a bit of a shock to regain all those memories at once," Fakir told her as he ruffled her hair, "I'll be fine, though, so don't worry about me." The diminutive ballerina scowled up at him for messing with her hair like that, but relaxed. This time he wasn't even lying. He _would_ be fine.

 **A/N:** SKLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Sorry. Next episode is yet another of my favorites and I am looking forward to writing it. This chapter went well, but I just realized there are some things I have never really addressed beyond writing it off as being Drosselmeyer's fault. Namely, Ahiru being the only one to use Japanese honorifics; believe it or not, I actually have a reason for that. I meant for it to be a charming idiosyncrasy of hers. No one really reacts to it because part of Drosselmeyer writing her in involved him making it so everyone just wrote the habit off as just one of her little quirks. Why does she do this? How does she even know Japanese honorifics when she lives in Germany? There is a reason for that too, but it is tied into head-canon that has nothing to do with this particular story. All you really need to know is I have a hard time believing that Ahiru's true self is a duck for all that the anime tries to convince me otherwise. So I came up with an alternate explanation. You will get to learn the details in future Tutu fics. Trust me, there is going to be no shortage of those. This series has kind of taken over my life… Well, I will see you all next chapter… SKLEEEEEEEEEEE! **Present day edit: You know, for a moment, I was thinking I might actually not have anything I needed to fix… Then I find two typos. Those were the only errors I found…but it was still two too many! Grrrrr!**


	22. The Spinner's Oak

**A/N:** SQEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I've been wanting to get to this point for SO LONG! Can't talk! Must write! SKLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing now go read the story!

Chapter 22: The Spinner's Oak

In all honesty, Fakir was growing a bit frustrated. He had shifted the focus of his research to learning how to use his power over stories, but the problem was he was less than certain of how to go about researching it. Mostly he just checked out random books that he thought might contain _something_ useful same as he had before. Some were actual books on writing methods and techniques which were kept as reference for the students of the Writing School. They had been of some use in fixing the flaws in his style. Considering he had gone _years_ without writing anything other than school-work the things he wrote tended to be a bit dry and academic. Somehow, he didn't think that was helping his inability to get his powers to work any. Yet while those books were useful in making him a better writer, they weren't much help at teaching him how to create the type of story he _needed_ : a story that would transform reality itself.

A few of the books he had checked out had contained tantalizing hints that such a thing may be possible, but it was always vaguely alluded to. There was nothing definite. It gave him some hope that he might find _something_ of use, but it had been over two weeks since he started looking! On top of that, Mytho was continuing to grow more and more unstable and Fakir was getting the feeling that if he took too much longer the white-haired teen would change irreversibly. Both the feeling of time running out and the lack of progress were driving him well past the point of frustration. He needed answers _now_ dammit! Of course, as more time passed without progress the young man started to wonder if the problem with his inability to get his powers working was because they had faded far beyond the point of usage from all the years of being suppressed. 'What if the remnant that allows me to see endings is all there is,' he fretted occasionally, 'What if I _can't_ write that way anymore?' It was a legitimate fear, but one he tried not to focus on. The last thing he needed was more doubt.

Fakir spent all his time when not attending classes in the library. He stopped putting in the extra practice time entirely and focused purely on doing research. It had affected his performance in class a little, but he didn't really care anymore. If his classmates and teachers thought something was off with him they could waste their time trying to figure him out all they wanted. It no longer mattered. Not with the story so close to its climax. Once Ahiru found the remaining heart shards that would be it and the story would come to an end one way or the other. His only concern now was learning how to use whatever power he possessed to make an ending that _wasn't_ tragic. That was why, instead of practicing ballet that Sunday, the dark-haired young man headed straight for the library to do more research.

There was also the fact that Mr. Katze had announced last joint session that there would be a special class for the beginners that day where he would be starting them on pointe work. Even if he'd wanted to practice he wouldn't have been able to without potentially being ambushed by one or more of his fangirls wanting him to comfort them because their feet hurt. The easiest way to avoid that was to just not be there, so he wasn't. He made his way for the back rooms reasoning that perhaps, since he wasn't finding much in the main collection, maybe the books being kept in storage would have something. He immediately started browsing until he finally found a book that looked like it had potential before pulling it down and starting to read.

He didn't get far before he heard a familiar voice call out to him from the door, "Looking something up?" Fakir glanced up and blinked when he saw Ahiru standing there. He wasn't all that surprised as she had been checking up on him constantly to see if he'd had any luck writing anything. "Yeah," he replied evenly before turning back to his book. "I see," the red head acknowledged as she took a few steps into the room before continuing awkwardly, "Umm, well…did you write a story about MythoooOOOO!" He smiled faintly at her yelp as he realized she had most likely starting leaning against the open door and nearly fallen over when it moved. He knew he probably shouldn't find her clumsiness so endearing, but he couldn't help it. "No, I haven't written it yet," he told her for what was probably the fiftieth time since he'd changed the focus of his research. She asked him the same question multiple times per day. She had a pattern of questions really and just didn't let up. He understood why she was so persistent, but it _was_ a bit irritating.

"Oh, I see," Ahiru replied understandingly before she asked her next standard question, "Then do you want to start now? We want to save Mytho as soon as we can, right?" 'She really doesn't get it,' he sighed internally before reminding her, "It's not like everything I write comes true. Besides, I don't even know yet if I still have that power." Fakir really did appreciate her boundless optimism since it kept his own pessimistic tendencies in check, but it _did_ require him to constantly remind her that reality didn't always work that way. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they did a pretty good job of balancing each other out…even if the differing viewpoints still drove them to argue occasionally. The diminutive ballerina was silent after his pointed reminder for a few moments before abruptly breaking it. "I…I'm sure it'll be fine," she blurted out, "If you wish really hard to save Mytho while you write it, I'm sure it will be a success this time…" She suddenly cut herself off and immediately started apologizing before he could even react to what she had said, "Oh, I'm sorry! By 'this time', I didn't really mean the thing with your parents… So… I'm sorry."

The dark-haired young man looked up after she started walking away dejectedly before rolling his eyes and sighing. "I didn't think you had, moron," he muttered under his breath as he turned back to his book. Ahiru had been hyper-sensitive about that whole incident ever since she learned about it. She was always second-guessing everything she said and apologizing if it could even _remotely_ be taken to be referring to his parents' deaths. Fakir knew it was because she didn't want to hurt him again by reminding him of the event. That wasn't what bothered him. What got on his nerves was that she was forgetting that _he knew her_. She didn't deliberately try to hurt people with words, so he always assumed the most harmless interpretation was the one she meant. There was no _reason_ for her to be so cautious. 'I'm going to have to talk with her about that,' he admitted to himself with another sigh, 'Aren't I?'

The young man sighed again as he heard the bells in the Main Hall begin to chime as his thoughts drifted to the consequences his avid research were likely to bring about. He'd cut class several times and basically played truant while still on campus over the past week and a half. He acknowledged this habit was likely not going to end well for him. After all, he was still on thin ice with the Dean as it had only been a month since his suspension ended. He just didn't care anymore. If he ended up being expelled then he would deal with it. It wasn't as though there was much use in his remaining near Mytho at this point. All the raven-possessed teen did was mock or threaten him these days. The Raven Prince was still subtle enough about it that only those who were fully aware of what was going on understood the true intent of his words.

For the most part, the raven was keeping his host's popularity intact if not his reputation. Fakir had heard more than a few rumors regarding his friend these past few weeks and they were disturbing. The white haired young man was now widely regarded as something of a skirt-chaser for how often he flirted with his prospective victims. He was also apparently being regarded as increasingly volatile for how violently he reacted when those same girls rejected his advances. Yet people were still drawn to him in spite of his dangerous image. Ironically, it was the danger that was drawing them. The green-eyed young man _seriously_ wondered about his peers sometimes.

Fakir rubbed at his temples briefly before returning to his research, but his thoughts soon wandered again; this time to focus on the whole Kraehe situation. It certainly seemed as though, the more Mytho deteriorated the less of a threat the Raven Princess became as her doubts consumed her. It _had_ occurred to the young man that the Raven may not have told his daughter everything about the consequences of infecting the prince with his blood. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more likely an outcome this seemed. There was no doubt in his mind as to how the black-clad ballerina felt about his white-haired friend. The sheer lengths to which she was willing to go to ensure that _she_ was the only one he would ever love made _that_ clear enough. She was so in love with him that she had literally been driven mad by jealousy over his friend's obsession with Princess Tutu.

The problem was the dark-haired young man knew for a fact that _her_ desires did _not_ fall in line with her father's. The Monster Raven despised the prince and wanted to eat his heart. Kraehe loved the prince and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. They were mutually exclusive goals. It had taken him far too long to work this out, but Fakir was starting to suspect that the Raven Princess might not be as much of an enemy as he thought she was. Maybe if he could get his powers to work he could add a bit that revealed the Raven's deception. It would certainly make Ahiru happy if he managed to save, or at least partially-liberate, the girl she _still_ insisted on treating as a friend.

The young man sighed heavily as he thought of the diminutive red-head. His love for her really was hopeless. Aside from the fact that she was in love with Mytho, it had occurred to him that there were other problems to be considered. First was the fact that her true self was a freaking duck and when the story ended that is what she would revert to being for the rest of her life. Even if, by some miracle, she returned his feelings nothing would come of them. A romantic relationship between a human and a duck just would not work. Second was that Ahiru clearly loved being human and the only way he had managed to uncover that would allow her to _keep_ her humanity at the end of the story was if the Prince chose her to return with him to _his_ world as his bride-to-be; as his Princess. Fakir loved her far too much to cost her the one chance she had to live out her days in happiness as a human.

'I _had_ to fall in love with the _one girl_ I have no chance of a future with,' he grumbled to himself before sighing brokenly, 'I am an _idiot_.' Yet he just couldn't help it. The red-haired girl was everything he wasn't. She was cheerful, friendly, innocent, hopeful, and just so impossibly forgiving. He loved everything about her regardless of how she looked. Human or duck it didn't change how he felt about her. He loved her voice, her laugh, her smile, her clumsiness as Ahiru, her beautiful blue eyes in any form, her freckles, her warmth, and just _everything_. He was completely lost and he knew it. Fakir sighed heavily again before pushing the thoughts of the girl he loved out of his mind and forced himself to focus. He had a lot of work ahead of him still.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Fakir had managed to find five books he wanted to spend more time studying. He brought his selections to the front desk to be checked out. One of the librarian's student aids was filling in when he got there; this one was a fruit bat of all things. The young man really wished he knew what the point was of all these anthropomorphic animals in town. They didn't add much to the story aside from making him question the sanity of whoever was controlling it. Most likely it was Drosselmeyer himself since Ahiru had reported multiple encounters with the dead man; especially since it had been him who wrote the original version of the story affecting the town. 'It _would_ be just my luck to be trapped in a story controlled by an insane dead writer,' he admitted drily as he set his books down on the desk. The bat flittered down without a word, slipped the check-out cards from their pockets inside the books' covers, and then flittered back up to its inverted perch before shuffling through them.

"Mr. Fakir from the Ballet School," the student aide observed at last, "These five are all you want to check out, then?" "Yeah," the dark-haired teen confirmed. "Ah, yes," the bat replied before unexpectedly turning to the left and continuing, "Also, that book over there…" "What," Fakir wondered as he turned to follow the bat student's gaze. "I was asked to give it to you if you came by," the chiropteran student librarian explained. "To me," the young man repeated in confusion. "Yes," the bat replied, "It was Mr. Autor from the Music School that asked." That name meant nothing to the green-eyed teen and he said as much, "I don't know him." "Oh, come to think of it," the student aide exclaimed suddenly before checking the cards it was holding again and then continuing, "As I thought." "What is it," the dark-haired young man inquired as he looked back at the inverted aide. "It's just that, oddly enough," the bat stated, "Mr. Autor also checked out all five of these books before."

"What," Fakir exclaimed as he grabbed for the cards. That was just _too much_ of a coincidence for him to believe, but sure enough there was the name written on all those cards. 'Autor,' he mused uneasily, 'Who is this guy?' "Um," the bat student quavered uneasily, "Could you let go?" "Ah, sorry," the dark-haired teen blinked as he released the cards and the aide fluttered back to its perch before glaring reproachfully at the human student. "I'll get you checked out," the assistant librarian stated coldly before doing exactly that, "Though I have half a mind to make you wait until the head librarian is done with her filing. Honestly, you are quite a violent person ripping at those cards like that. I do not approve. I do not approve at all." The young man scowled back but didn't bother replying. He wasn't _violent_ ; he'd just been surprised and more than a little freaked out.

The bat finished stamping the cards and then scribbled a receipt that it stuck behind the cover of the top book. "The books will be due in two weeks," the chiropteran aide informed him primly, "Make sure you return them on time, Mr. Fakir." "I will," Fakir assured the winged mammal before gathering his five books, plus the extra left for him by this Autor guy, and walked out. Originally, he'd been planning to just go straight home and read some more, but now that had changed. He didn't know who this Autor person was or why he was leaving books for him to read, but either way it made him nervous. He was thoroughly sick and tired of mysteries and wasn't going to just leave this one be. The malachite-eyed teen was going to drop off his books in the Main Hall common room before heading to the music building to see if he could find this mysterious student.

The music building was right next to the Main Hall, so it was a short walk for the dark-haired young man after he dropped off all but one of his books. Since there were no actually classes that day aside from the special one being held in the ballet building, there weren't many people on campus and the few that were in the music building were not inclined to interfere with the grim teen. They knew his reputation just as well as all the other students and were _not_ willing to cross the short-tempered dancer. Fakir made his way up to the second floor and as he reached the landing he could make out someone playing furiously on the piano. Perhaps it was the mysterious Autor he was looking for. It was worth checking out. 'A guy from the music school,' he mused as he looked for where the sound was coming from, 'What is this about?' He didn't walk far before he noticed a door nearby was cracked open. That was where the music was coming from!

The green-eyed teen walked over and opened the door, but before he could walk in a young man's voice addressed him scornfully, "You're late." The failed knight's eyes narrowed in mixed confusion and irritation at those words before focusing on their origin. The other teen let out a smug laugh before continuing in the same tone, "Eighteen days, seven hours, and twenty-four minutes." "What's that supposed to be," Fakir asked irately as he walked over to the piano. "That is how long it has been since you started to investigate your powers," the piano playing teen clarified as he finished his piece before standing and smiling smugly, "Until you noticed me." The dark-haired young man's eyes widened slightly as he finally recognized the other student as the one who had yelled at Ahiru and Uzura for making noise in the library…and the bookstore now that he thought about it. The smug look on the blue-haired teen's face widened as he noticed the look of dawning recognition and addressed the other young man casually, "Fakir."

"So you're Autor, huh," the malachite-eyed young man questioned after composing himself once more and held up the one book he'd brought with him. The one the other student had recommended and demanded coldly, "What kind of joke is this?" "I thought that you might not have read that book yet," Autor replied casually, "I think you will find it useful when you write your own stories." "You," Fakir glared suspiciously, "What do you know?" A cold smile crossed the blue-haired teen's face as he replied, "I know everything that you want to know." "What," the dark-haired teen demanded. "Exactly what I said," the other young man replied smugly, "I know everything that you want to know about your abilities. What they are, how they work, and so much more." "How," the irate young man scowled viciously, "Who are you?!" "You already know my name," the glasses-wearing student rolled his eyes mockingly. "Don't mock me," the green-eyed teen growled threateningly, "You know full well what I meant."

"Hmmm," the music student pushed up his glasses with a fake thoughtful look, "I suppose I do. But why should I tell you?" "Don't play games," the increasingly agitated young man demanded impatiently, "I'm asking who the hell you are." Autor sighed before shaking his head as he observed before starting to walk around the piano, "You're as short-tempered as the rumors say. But you should remember this. Violence has no power in the face of words. You want Drosselmeyer's power because you understand that as well, correct?" That final question caught Fakir off guard as his eyes narrowed slightly. What did Drosselmeyer have to do with this? "The power to turn stories into reality," the blue-haired young man clarified before continuing in an increasingly reverential, and slightly deranged, tone, "It's wonderful! And the books who've had their endings stolen by those who stop them from becoming reality! Isn't it thrilling!?"

Fakir had already suspected there was some connection between his powers and the mutilated books, but to have it confirmed in such a way… "They took out the endings," he murmured grimly, "to stop the stories from becoming reality?" "Yes," Autor confirmed enthusiastically and the dark-haired teen grimaced as he started to tremble faintly. The glasses wearing student was still talking, though, and _this_ fact was enough to send the increasingly uneasy young man reeling. "After they seal away the original manuscript," the music student proclaimed, "All we can get hold of are the copies. It is a power so strong those endings _still_ had to be torn out…" The shaken young man brought his hand up to his forehead as he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure once more. Fakir knew his powers were dangerous already considering they'd gotten his parents killed, but for them to be potentially capable of creating stories so strong that even the _copies_ could cause harm… It was too much. How could he ever learn to control something like that?! The blue-haired young man was clearly amused by the distress his words were causing the taller teen and it showed in his voice as he continued, "If you want that power, I'm not averse to helping you. However, you'll have to obey my every order. And you must be prepared to die if you fail."

The shaken teen's eyes flickered open and his hand dropped to his mouth as a familiar voice cried out indignantly from the door, "What's that?!" Fakir turned to look and was not surprised to see an irate Ahiru storming over. The last time he'd seen her that angry was back on the day of the Fire Festival…and it had been _him_ she'd been angry at. 'She thought I was a threat to Mytho back then,' he mused as he slowly lowered his hand and she moved to stand in front of him, 'Does that mean she thinks I'm being threatened by Autor now…? Is she trying to _protect_ me? …Why do I find that attractive? I really shouldn't… My feelings for her are _really_ messing with how I perceive things…' "Asking him to obey your every order, or be prepared to die," the red-head was yelling agitatedly, "What are you talking about?! Why should he have to do those things?!"

"I am giving him a warning," Autor countered harshly with a step forward and the green-eyed young man re-focused from his thoughts about a certain blue-eyed ballerina as the glasses-wearing teen finished darkly, "Do not take Drosselmeyer's power lightly. If you use it the wrong way it can lead to unexpected consequences. People may even die." "What," Ahiru gasped sharply at that. Fakir had a pretty good idea of where her mind had gone considering his had snapped to the same thing: the story he wrote as a child that killed his parents. He knew the risks of his powers better than anyone after that whole mess. Autor was right. The power to shape reality through the written word was _not_ to be taken lightly. Inexperience or careless use of this power could cost lives. That was why, regardless of the risks to himself, the dark-haired young man needed to learn how to use it; how to control it.

"I'm simply telling you that you must be prepared for all of that," the blue-haired young man was saying sternly before adopting a mocking demeanor, "If you don't want to do it, I'm not going to force you." "No," Fakir conceded as he closed his eyes and bowed his head respectfully, "Please teach me." Ahiru turned to look at her older friend in surprise and some dismay, "Fakir…" "A wise decision," Autor replied with satisfaction before giving his first order as he left, "Come to my house tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you, Fakir." The red-head waited before the glasses wearing teen was long gone before turning back to the taller teen in concern. "Fakir," she inquired cautiously, "Are you sure…" The dark-haired young man cut her off quietly, "This is something I need to know. I can't risk something like what happened when I was a child ever happening again. If Autor can teach me how to avoid making another mistake of _that_ magnitude…"

The blue-eyed girl's expression saddened as he trailed off on that last sentence before sighing heavily. She may continually misinterpret his feelings for her as being mere friendship, but for the most part she could read him surprisingly well these days. It was clear to her that, even after over two weeks, he still wasn't entirely over the return of that memory. "What are you doing in here anyways," Fakir finally asked as he opened his eyes and looked at her curiously. "Ah, well," Ahiru laughed sheepishly, "I thought I saw something earlier, but it may have just been nothing I guess…" "Ahiru," the green-eyed young man cut her off once more and met her gaze sternly, "Tell me." The diminutive ballerina flushed lightly under his intense gaze before she admitted, "I thought I saw someone in a cloak run into this building, so I followed them. Only I never caught up. I've seen them hanging around town a few times in the past, but they always run before I can get close…" The dark-haired young man's eyes narrowed sharply, "When? How often?"

"Um," Ahiru mused thoughtfully before slowly rattling off a list of times and dates before clarifying, "I usually notice them when I'm on my way to visit you at home or when I'm looking for you while you're busy looking things up. Now that I think about it… They've been around more often these past few weeks." "That feeling of being watched I've been getting," Fakir realized uneasily as he looked away, "I wasn't imagining things after all…" "Eh," the red-head yelped in surprise. The dark-haired teen sighed as he clarified, "Mid-way through my suspension I started getting the feeling that someone was watching me while I was trying to find a way to fix Mytho's problem. Only every time I looked up there wasn't anyone there. It gradually progressed to feeling like I was being watched on my way to and from places and sometimes even at home. Yet it is still the most common when I've been busy with research. These last two weeks have been the worst. The times of your sightings match up with a lot of the times when I've had those feelings in the past."

"But why would they be watching you for so long," Ahiru fretted, "What do they want?!" "I wish I knew," the green-eyed young man admitted as he looked back at her, "Mysteries seem to surround me these days whether I want them to or not, and I am honestly sick of them." He then sighed morosely as he concluded, "Knowing my luck I'll find out at the most inconvenient time possible and I _won't_ like the answer…" The diminutive ballerina's troubled expression turned sad again at his obvious pessimism, and he shot her a comforting smile to alleviate her concerns. "Don't worry about it," Fakir told her as he ruffled her hair lightly making her scowl up at him in annoyance before nodding to the door, "Let's go." The blue-eyed girl gave him an annoyed pout for messing with her hair again before nodding, "Okay!"

Fakir split off from his young friend briefly to retrieve the rest of the books he'd checked out before returning to resume their trek off campus. "I'll come meet up with you before you head over to Autor's, okay," Ahiru suddenly offered brightly. "What," the dark-haired young man blinked in surprise, "Why?" "I just feel like I should," she replied awkwardly, "Do you mind?" "Not really," he admitted with a puzzled frown as he still didn't understand why she would feel the need to risk making herself late for classes just to accompany him. His house was completely out of the way of the path she needed to take to reach campus. "Well," the diminutive ballerina beamed up at him as they reached the dorms, "I'll see you tomorrow morning! Good night, Fakir!"

"Good night…," the green-eyed teen replied before he froze and blushed furiously when the girl he loved suddenly lunged forward and hugged him quickly before running through the gates. 'What just happened,' his stunned mind questioned hazily as it slowly recovered from the sudden surge of sheer joy her touch had sent running through him. He had no idea why she had done that, but he was _definitely_ not complaining. It was easily the most enjoyable thing he'd experienced all day. It had just caught him completely off guard. Still in a slight daze, Fakir turned to resume his progress home. To his endless relief, he didn't feel anyone watching him the entire way back. Whoever his mystery stalkers were, they were apparently involved with something else that evening. Yet again, he was _not_ complaining.

Once he made it home, it occurred to Fakir he _really_ had no idea how long Autor intended for him to stay the next day. For all he knew, it could even take several days before he was free to return home. He owed it to Charon to give the man a head's up so that he wouldn't worry. "Charon," he called as he opened the door. "Welcome back," the smith replied with a glance over his shoulder from where he stood at the stove, "Dinner will be ready in a few hours." "Mm," the young man nodded in acknowledgement before frowning seriously, "Look, I may be gone for a few days starting tomorrow. I'm not sure how long I'll be away, exactly, but…I don't want you to worry about me." The older man paused in his cooking and turned fully to face his son with a puzzled and concerned frown, "As much as I appreciate the warning, what could you possibly be doing that would keep you away for an indefinite amount of time?"

Fakir sighed and looked away, "I…might have found another way I can help Mytho besides fighting. Only to learn more about it I need someone to teach me. This afternoon I found somebody who knows how to do exactly that and is also willing to help. They want me to meet up with them tomorrow only I forgot to ask how long it would take. That's why…" "I see," Charon replied understandingly as the teen trailed off, "You don't need to explain further. I can't say I'm not happy to hear you've found an alternative." "Yeah," the dark-haired young man smiled weakly, "I know." "Will you need to pack anything," the smith inquired curiously. "Not sure," the green-eyed teen shrugged, "I wasn't told to, but the guy I found is a bit strange. Who knows what he wants me to do." After that exchange, the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. The young man did wonder if he should try reading the books he'd checked out, but ultimately decided against it. The only one Fakir ended up looking at was the one Autor had recommended and even then he only skimmed it briefly. Based on that alone, he was able to conclude that the other teen had been right; it did look like it _might_ help with his writing. He'd look over it more thoroughly after he got back.

That night was the first truly restful night's sleep he'd had since his memories returned. A whole new wave of nightmares had been unleashed with that incident which had been cutting in to the amount of actual sleep he was getting. It was a welcome break. The next morning he came down the stairs to find Ahiru had already arrived and was chatting with Charon and Uzura at the breakfast table. "Look, Fakir-zura," the little puppet cried gleefully once she noticed him, "Ducky-Ahiru is here-zura!" "I can see that," he informed her drily before shooting a tired smile at the red-head, "You're here early." "Well, I didn't want to make you wait or anything, so I figured earlier was better," the blue-eyed girl replied sheepishly before giving him a concerned look, "You look tired. Are you feeling okay?" "Last night was the first one in a while to be nightmare free," Fakir shrugged as he took a seat at the table, "It helped, but it didn't entirely make up for all the sleep I'd already lost to those damned dreams." "You have nightmares," Ahiru frowned worriedly. "I'm used to them," the dark-haired teen reassured her, "They used to be a lot worse when I thought I was the only one looking out for Mytho. Back then they were almost constant and I was lucky if I got any sleep at all. Things are far better now, so you don't need to worry about me." "I guess that's good," the diminutive ballerina admitted hesitantly.

Fakir briskly ate before carrying his plate over to the sink to be washed and turned to look back at where Ahiru was still sitting. "We'd best be off," he told her. "Oooh," Uzura blinked curiously, "Are you two going somewhere-zura?" "Fakir is going to be learning how to write so he can help Mytho," the red-head explained to the puppet girl, "And I'm coming along so I can help however I can." That was a bit surprising for the dark-haired teen as he'd just assumed she was just going to come along for the walk over to Autor's. He hadn't realized she intended to stick around the entire time and sighed quietly in exasperation. After the way the glasses-wearing teen had reacted to her presence the other day, he doubted she'd be allowed to do that. He wasn't going to turn away her company on the way over, but he might have to point out to her that she was going to end up being disappointed if that's what she was expecting to happen.

"I didn't realize the method you'd found was writing," Charon frowned in concern at his son, "Are you really okay with that?" "Yeah," Fakir replied quietly. The smith still looked uncertain, but didn't press any further. "Can I help too-zura," Uzura asked as she looked between the two teens. "Sure you can," Ahiru chirped cheerfully and the dark-haired teen slapped his hand to his forehead with a frustrated groan. "You realize Autor's not going to let either of you stay," he muttered tensely. "Eh," the blue-eyed girl blinked, "Why would he do that?" The green-eyed young man stared at the diminutive ballerina incredulously. He _knew_ she wasn't _that_ dense. Then it occurred to him that she was just being her normal optimistic self and he sighed as he realized it was time for yet another reality check. "You didn't exactly make the best impression on him yesterday," he pointed out patiently.

Ahiru smiled back at him cheerfully, "Oh, I was just worried about you is all. He'll understand!" "You are _such_ an optimist," Fakir sighed with a faint grin. "And _you're_ a pessimist," the red-head countered with a laugh, "That's why we make such a good team!" "Are you sure Ahiru isn't love-love with Fakir-zura," the little puppet inquired suddenly making the dark-haired teen choke and blush furiously while the diminutive ballerina started shaking her head vigorously. "It's not like that," the blue-eyed girl protested loudly missing the faint wince from her taller friend at the denial. He knew full well he didn't have a chance with her, but that didn't change the fact that hearing her confirm that so emphatically _hurt_. He didn't realize that his father had caught the reaction though, nor did he notice the look of dawning realization that spread across the man's face before being replaced by a sympathetic one. Uzura still didn't look all that convinced, but didn't pursue the topic and instead reverted to the previous one. "I'm still coming with you-zura," she proclaimed. "Fine," Fakir conceded as he brought up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, "Do whatever you want." "I'll see you when you get back," Charon smiled kindly at his son as the teen started ushering his female tag-alongs towards the door. "Right," the dark-haired young man smiled back weakly, "See you then. We'll be off." "Take care," the smith replied quietly as he watched them go.

Autor had stuck a paper with directions for how to find his house in the back of the book he'd recommended which solved the problem of the dark-haired young man not having any idea where he was supposed to even _go_. The walk over was mostly silent, barring Uzura's intermittent drumming, until they were only a few streets away from their destination. "Fakir," Ahiru piped up suddenly, "You know, I decided that I want to support you." "Huh," Fakir blinked in confusion as he glanced down at her. 'That doesn't make any sense for her to say,' he mused, 'Considering that she's _been_ doing exactly that for well over a month now.' "Because that's the only thing I can do right now," she continued, "So I'm going to do what I can with all my might! If there's anything I can help with, just ask, okay? But you know, don't you think that Autor guy is kinda weird? You think it'll be all right?" Weird was an understatement as far as the malachite-eyed teen was concerned, but he didn't have any other options. He needed to learn how to control his powers one way or the other. "He may be weird," the older teen pointed out evenly, " But, right now, we have no choice to believe in him." They were almost to the house now, so he didn't bother saying anything more.

The building was far larger than he'd been expecting. The other teen must be renting an apartment or something. It made far more sense than him owning the entire structure and leasing it out. Fakir determinedly ignored the fact that _he_ owned property even though he was still only a teenager. Owning an old watermill was a lot different than owning a place _that_ big. Autor was waiting outside the door impatiently when they finally drew near. Even though he hadn't bothered to specify a time that he'd wanted the dark haired young man to be there by, the glasses-wearing teen already looked annoyed. "No entourage," he snapped once they were in earshot which is exactly what the taller young man expected him to say. 'Called it,' he snarked to himself as Ahiru reacted in surprise. "What? Are you talking about me, Autor-san," she asked hesitantly, "I'm..." "Don't make me repeat myself," the blue-haired young man informed her sternly and the red-head shrank slightly in disappointment. "I _did_ warn you," the taller teen whispered under his breath before the other young man started talking again.

"Inside this house are many things I've collected relating to Drosselmeyer," he explained before turning towards the door, "It is a sacred place!" He didn't get far before encountering a curious Uzura who reached up to tug at his jacket with a coo. "Are you the weird Autor-zura," she asked bluntly and both teens who knew her well winced slightly. She was _definitely_ a toddler. Autor was not amused and picked up the little puppet before carrying her back over to the other two teens. "People like you two who are totally unrelated are not allowed inside," he exclaimed harshly before calming a bit, "Now, come on, Fakir!" "Unrelated," Ahiru muttered in annoyance. Considering that the diminutive ballerina had actually _met_ Drosselmeyer they both knew that accusation was baseless. Still, there was no point in trying to argue the point. "Hmph," Fakir scoffed quietly before starting to walk forward, "Take Uzura and go home, all right?" "Ah, okay," the red-head replied as she uneasily watched her older friend walk away. The dark-haired teen remained impassive as he reached the door Autor was holding open for him and walked through into the dimly lit interior beyond. There was no going back now.

There was a short flight of stairs just inside the door followed by a dim, tunnel-like hallway with a few doors leading off into what the dark-haired young man could only assume were other parts of the apartment. Autor led him past all of them until reaching one at the end of the hall with a light shining out from underneath. The glasses-wearing teen opened it silently and stepped through before waiting for Fakir to follow. The slightly taller teen obliged and scanned the room he had entered thoroughly. It looked like an old, badly cluttered study. The far wall had an old writing desk that was almost buried under writing materials and old books. To either side of the desk were bookshelves stuffed almost to overflowing with even _more_ books. There was another desk against one wall that was far cleaner with only a few sheets of paper, two ink pots, a quill, a couple of books, and a lamp on it. Against the wall opposite was an old wood-backed couch, a low side-table with an odd box on it, and more bookshelves.

Hanging from the ceiling was an old chandelier which was lit. This provided the only light for there were no windows. Both desks had chairs in front of them; the cluttered desk had one padded in red pillows that sat slightly askew as though its owner had just gotten up for a brief break before intending to return while the sparse desk had a simple wooden chair without padding. All told the effect was a bit unnerving. "This room is an accurate recreation based on Drosselmeyer's study and his materials according to the data I gathered," Autor proclaimed proudly after shutting the door and walking towards the center of the room, "The paper has been made out of ten-year old reeds. The ink is a seven to three ratio of blue to black. The best pen would be the feather of a white swan that's crossed the sea three times, but I've substituted a duck's feather for you." Frankly, Fakir didn't see how all of this was supposed to help. "So," he started intending to ask exactly why he was expected to care about all of this, but was cut off when the other teen splashed him full in the face with a pitcher full of water.

'Great,' the green-eyed teen grumbled to himself as he blinked his eyes clear again, 'Now I'm completely soaked on top of being confused. This day just keeps getting better…' "What was that for," he demanded as he lowered his arm from where he'd drawn it up reflexively to shield himself. "Ritual purification," Autor replied simply as he set down the pitcher and picked up a rag before explaining as he moved to wipe up the water spilled on the floor, "It is said that Drosselmeyer always purified his body with water before he wrote stories. You didn't know that?" "Who would," Fakir snapped back irately. He was starting to get the feeling the other teen was obsessed with the dead man which was _not_ a good thing as far as he was concerned. "You're a direct descendant of Drosselmeyer's, and this is all you have to offer," the glasses-wearing teen countered smugly. The dark-haired young man gasped in surprise as his eyes widened in disbelief, "A direct descendant of Drosselmeyer?" "Hey, now," the blue-haired young man looked up at the taller teen with an amused grin, "You're not going to say you didn't know that either, are you? It's a fact about yourself."

It was pretty obvious that, no, the malachite green eyed teen did _not_ know about that particular bit of information which made the question redundant. "I'm shocked," Autor shook his head in mock disbelief before standing and retrieving a large, rolled up scroll of paper. He returned to where Fakir was waiting in clear befuddlement before unrolling it across the floor and re-rolling it the other way to keep it from rolling itself up again as he explained, "This is a Drosselmeyer family tree I drew after doing my own research." He then unrolled it once more and flipped it over before retrieving a pointer and going over what was clearly a family tree. "Take a look," the blue-haired teen offered before pointing out the bits relating to the confused young man, "Drosselmeyer is here. You're down here. I think that I'm probably connected…" In all honestly, Fakir had completely blanked out everything Autor had said after he pointed out the link between himself and Drosselmeyer. It was pretty hard to refute. He recognized his father's name right above his own, and that of his grandfather above it. He'd never known his great-grandfather's name nor his great-great grandfather's as his parents had never mentioned either before their deaths, yet right above them in a direct line was the name Dietrich Dewitt Drosselmeyer.

It explained a lot, but Fakir was still deeply shaken by the revelation. He'd already decided he didn't like the man after hearing how he'd spoken to Ahiru. He vaguely recalled hearing his father discuss with his mother that his family had changed their name after a distant patriarch had died. Now he knew that patriarch was most likely Drosselmeyer and he couldn't say he blamed his ancestors for that. This was _not_ a connection he was happy to learn about. 'I have Drosselmeyer's blood,' he finally admitted before gasping faintly as he remembered the incident with the Ghost Knight and something clicked, 'Does that mean that those books missing their endings are things Drosselmeyer wrote? The ending that I saw was the one Drosselmeyer had originally included before it was torn out…wasn't it?' Those stories hadn't had an author's name anywhere in them, so they must have been anonymous works… But that was still over a hundred stories to the man's name! Just what was with that man's obsession with tragedies?! Why had he written so many when he _knew_ they could become real?! And that man had been contacting Ahiru and might still be influencing events somehow from behind the grave… It was a terrifying thought. 'I'm not going to be like him,' Fakir vowed as he took a deep breath to calm himself, 'A madman obsessed with tragedies who cares nothing for those trapped in them.' There was no doubt in his mind now that it was Drosselmeyer's shade that was influencing the events taking place in Goldkrone. It all fit.

"What's the matter with you," Autor demanded as he glanced up at the taller teen in annoyance, "Were you even paying attention?" "It's nothing," Fakir denied as he forced himself to relax before breathing deeply once more and murmuring, "A direct descendant, huh… The universe really _does_ hate me." "You should be honored to be related to such a talented writer," the glasses-wearing teen scolded as he stood once more. The dark-haired young man scoffed quietly and looked away before muttering, "So what now?" "Now," the blue-haired teen replied with a smirk as he pointed next to the copy of Drosselmeyer's chair, "You are going to stand on that spot for three days clearing your mind of all thoughts other than writing. You will not eat, sleep, or drink once during that entire time. If you can't even handle that then, well, there will be no point in trying to teach you _anything_." The green-eyed teen frowned, but didn't protest.

He'd gone three days without sleep before. It would be difficult, but he knew he could do it. The lack of food or drink was more of a challenge. He had never deliberately denied himself either for longer than the time it took to track down Mytho when he'd gone missing in heartless mode. That was never more than a few hours at most. Three days of subjecting himself to the symptoms of starvation and dehydration… This was going to be an ordeal, but he had to believe it would be worth it. "So I'm supposed to stand here," Fakir asked quietly as he walked over to the indicated spot. "That's right," Autor nodded with a satisfied grin, "I'll be back for you to go over the next step on the fourth day." The dark haired young man nodded silently before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he did his best to clear his mind as directed. This was going to be a _long_ three days.

The first day was absolutely miserable. His body was _not_ happy about being denied food or water and was making that abundantly clear if the constant growling from his stomach and the scratchy feeling in his throat by the time evening arrived was any indication. Fakir did his best to push those sensations away and just not think. The problem was he was almost _always_ thinking about something and that was making clearing his mind difficult. Even worse was that the hungrier and thirstier he got, the more his thoughts resisted being controlled. They jumped from fretting about Mytho, to wondering about the situation with Kraehe, to thinking about Ahiru, to cursing Drosselmeyer for _existing_ , and back to Mytho before cycling through all over again. It was maddening. The second day was even worse as his stomach _ached_ furiously from the absence of food and his throat was so dry and scratchy from the lack of water that it was a struggle not to cough. His thoughts were even more chaotic and fragmented. There was no coherence to them at all. Basically, it was the mental equivalent to white noise. He was also starting to tremble slightly from exhaustion as he was already pretty tired when he started.

The third day started off even worse than the first two had. By that point his mind had numbed to the hunger pangs from his stomach, but the feelings of thirst were still bothering him. Fakir felt nauseous, dizzy, and felt like his mouth had been stuffed with an old sock. He'd succeeded in clearing his mind for the most part…only now his exhaustion was combining with the thirst and hunger to bring a new torment: hallucinations. He could hear the false Mytho telling him to just give up and die already, the true Mytho pleading with him to save him somehow, Kraehe mocking him and calling him useless, and Ahiru pleading with him not to torture himself like this. Out of all of them it was the last that was the most distracting even though he _knew_ he was all alone in the study. He forced himself to ignore it all and by the end of the day he'd successfully pushed it all away. His mind was completely clear. Physically, however, he was an absolute wreck. He was visibly trembling from exhaustion as his half-lidded eyes stared dully ahead. His breaths rasped through his throat and he occasionally coughed weakly as he struggled to remain standing. His lips were completely chapped yet his skin was clammy to the touch. Fakir was terribly ill, but he refused to acknowledge it. He _would_ pass this trial even if it _killed_ him!

Fakir had lost all track of time by the time the fourth day dawned and didn't even notice when Autor failed to come at the time he'd said he would. It was late in the day when the other teen finally entered the study, though the exhausted young man barely even registered the sound of the door opening. He thought it was just another hallucination, and so ignored it. Not long after he thought he heard the sound of Ahiru calling his name from a distance, but that was also impossible. Then her voice became clearer still and he blearily wondered if maybe she was really there after all before disregarding it and trying to clear his mind once more. However, by that point his body had decided it had endured enough and gave out. With a faint sigh, the dark-haired teen staggered and fell hard against the chair next to him before collapsing to the ground in a slumped over heap.

As he shifted to try to climb back to his feet he heard his red-haired friend call his name once more…only this time she sounded terrified. His exhausted mind focused just enough to register her pleading with him to hang on from even closer before he felt her hands touching his shoulders. 'She's…really here,' he realized faintly as his eyes focused on the distraught ballerina who was yelling at Autor. "What did you do to Fakir," she demanded furiously. "Nothing," the glasses-wearing teen replied casually as he walked over. "Liar," Ahiru screamed back. "It's true," the blue-haired young man replied, "He's been standing there for three days without food or sleep or anything else. That's all." "Why Make him do a thing like that," the diminutive ballerina started to protest before the other teen cut her off. "This way he sharpens his mind and spirit," the music student explained, "If he starts complaining at just this, I'll really have no hope for him at all."

Through the entire exchange, the exhausted teen had been silent as he just enjoyed Ahiru's presence before he finally realized she was really worried about him. Fakir started to stir weakly as she started to yell back at Autor, "Talking like that…" "I'm fine," the dark-haired young man murmured faintly as he pushed himself into a more upright position effectively cutting off the red-head. "Fakir," she breathed in concern as she turned to look back at him. If he had the energy he'd offer a comforting smile, but it was taking everything he had to just stay focused. He was so _tired_ … "Then hurry and stand back up," the glasses-wearing teen ordered scornfully, "Tonight I'll give you a test to measure your aptitude. Continue until then." In all honesty, the green-eyed young man wasn't entirely sure he had the strength to keep going, yet with a faint grunt he forced himself to stand once more. Ahiru looked up at him in concern as she stood as well.

She could clearly see that he was far from being fine. Fakir looked as though he would collapse again at any minute. "But…," she started to protest weakly. "I have…to do this…Ahiru," he whispered faintly as he glanced down at her, "Don't worry…" "When you say that in this condition," the blue-eyed girl grumbled, "It only makes me worry more…" A weak laugh slipped out of the exhausted teen at that before turning into a harsh cough. "Fakir," the diminutive ballerina asked uneasily as she moved to support him, "What's wrong?!" "Thirsty," he admitted weakly, "Haven't…had anything…to drink either…" Once his footing felt a bit more stable, he shifted a hand to cover hers before murmuring, "You can…let go now…" The red-head looked obstinate for a few seconds before sighing and releasing her older friend. She shot him another worried look as she moved back. "I'll be back this evening," she promised. "Okay," Fakir breathed before his eyes glazed over as he cleared his mind once more.

True to her word, Ahiru returned that evening just after Autor informed the exhausted teen he could rest and have something to take the edge off. The glasses-wearing young man had offered a tray with a small glass of water and some chicken soup. Considering it had been close to four days since the last he'd had anything to eat or drink this was a good choice. Anything more would risk making Fakir sick as his deprived body was overwhelmed. Slowly, the dark-haired young man started working his way through the small meal. He just didn't have the energy to eat quickly. The red-head had shown up when he was halfway through and got into another argument with the blue-haired teen over her coming with them. The diminutive ballerina absolutely _refused_ to leave her older friend alone with him again after the last time, and the music student was convinced she would only get in the way.

It wasn't until the green-eyed teen weakly murmured that he didn't mind her coming along that Autor finally threw up his hands in frustration and gave in. Ahiru sat next to the exhausted young man as he finished his meal and gasped slightly as he slumped over to rest his head against her shoulder once he set the tray aside. "U-um, F-fakir," she stammered uneasily, "Wh-what are you…?" "Tired," he whispered as he closed his eyes. "You can sleep after we're done," the glasses-wearing teen sneered before ordering, "Now get up. Your test awaits." Fakir sighed faintly before he moved to obey. The small meal had restored just enough energy that he could probably last a little longer. The trio slowly made their way through the darkened streets; the music student would have probably preferred their pace were a little faster, but even he could tell that the dark-haired young man was barely managing as it was.

Eventually, they arrived at one of the museums in town with a rocky yard out back. "A very long time ago," Autor informed them as they came to a halt in the middle of the yard and he turned to face the other two teens, "The Story Spinners had an oak tree in Goldkrone Town that they used to test their power. If you touch that oak when the bells have just finished tolling midnight, you would hear it's voice if you have the power. That's the proof of your power. By the way, I have clearly heard the tree make a sound like a faint sigh. However, if you have no power, I'm sure you'll hear nothing but the sound of the wind." "But where is this oak tree," Ahiru asked as she looked around. "Right," the glasses wearing teen nodded with a faintly approving smile, "The oak tree was felled long ago and only the roots remain here below the museum…"

By this point Fakir had tuned the conversation out in favor of focusing on something else. He could feel something calling him, pulling at him, and he was trying to work out where it was coming from. Eventually he focused on a small stone next to a larger one off behind them a ways; that small stone. That's what was calling him. He started to walk over to it before falling to his knees and studying it. Yes, this was definitely what had been trying to catch his attention. He finally registered Autor's voice again after satisfying his curiosity. "Very well done finding it," the blue-haired young man informed the taller teen with a hint of genuine admiration, "Just what you'd expect from a direct descendant. I guess I'll give you that." The dark-haired young man _really_ wished the other teen would stop reminding him of that. "What," Ahiru gasped softly in surprise and confusion at those words – her older friend realized she hadn't known about _that_ bit – as they both turned to look back at the glasses-wearing teen. He continued, "That is the sole position from which you can hear the oak tree. But be prepared. There are many who have messed up the contact, were sucked into the tree, and lost their lives."

"No way," the red-haired girl panicked before turning to Fakir, "Fakir, maybe you shouldn't…" The exhausted young man laughed weakly at how she had chosen _now_ to have second thoughts about asking him to write again. He had already made up his mind to go through with it, and wasn't about to stop just because there was a chance he could die. He wasn't really bothered by the idea anymore. It wasn't as though he couldn't trust her to take care of matters without him. She'd done admirably up to now and there was no reason for him to expect that to change. "Didn't you say I should hurry and write the story," the dark-haired teen teased her gently. "I'm sorry," Ahiru apologized before continuing frantically, "I mean, I didn't think it was such a major thing! I thought it was just writing, so…so…" He was truly grateful for her concern; knowing that she cared for him made everything so much more bearable.

'If I don't survive this,' he mused as he turned back to the stone, 'I leave everything to you. I know you will save Mytho. Really…you were always the only one who could ever succeed at that… I believe in you…Ahiru…' "It's midnight," Autor informed them seconds before the bells started to chime. Fakir cleared his mind once more as he waited for the chiming to stop and let all other stimuli fade away. He didn't hear the girl he loved crying his name in fear. He didn't hear the glasses-wearing teen moving to restrain her. All he heard were the bells as he reached out for the stone lying innocently in the grass. Then, as the last chime started to fade he placed his hand on its cold smooth surface. His eyes widened sharply as he felt a sharp jolt and then suddenly he was falling through a void as a woman's voice spoke to him. "That which you can see is cannot be seen," she stated cryptically, "That which you can hear makes no sound. See that which you cannot see, and hear what you cannot hear."

"Who are you," he asked in complete befuddlement. He had absolutely no idea what this woman was talking about yet it felt important. Like he _should_ know this only there was something blocking him. "Drink in the ancient, distant truth," the voice continued, "Calm your body." Fakir let himself relax as he whispered, "I'm calm… What is it that you are trying to say? I don't understand…" The voice did not respond as he continued to fall endlessly yet he started to hear a faint noise that he struggled to make out. "This sound," he murmured, "A clock? No…This is…a heartbeat… Whose heart? I…" "Everything is one," the woman's voice sounded once more, "One is everything. All stories are connected into one. The beginning is also an end. The end is also a beginning." That actually made a bit more sense to the dark-haired teen as flashes of Goldkrone started to pass before his eyes. "All stories are one," he murmured, "Each one leading into the next at its ending… An endless flow…" "That's right," the voice replied as he suddenly found himself sitting in a field before a mighty oak.

He was completely nude, and normally that _should_ have bothered him. Yet he didn't care. "Beginning is coincidence," the oak continued for that was who had been speaking to him all along, "Conclusion is inevitable. Existence is false. Truth is nothingness." "Yeah, that's right. I'll go back to nothingness," Fakir murmured with a faint smile before closing his eyes as he made up his mind, "And then I will become one with everything else. I can watch over everyone like this…until the end of eternity." It made sense. As a part of the oak he could watch over everyone involved in the story and guide them to their endings. Mytho, Ahiru, and even Kraehe; he no longer found he despised the Raven Princess as he once had. He pitied her. She was just as trapped as the rest of them…enslaved by her role and the saddest part of all was she no longer fought it. He'd save her, too… "If that is what you wish," the oak murmured before pulling his spirit in.

The dark-haired teen sighed faintly as he began to fade away. This wasn't so bad…in fact it was quite peaceful. He didn't mind dying this way… "There is happiness for those who accept everything," the oak's voice started repeating, "Glory for those who go against everything…"Fakir's fading consciousness vaguely recognized it as being similar to something Edel used to say. "There is happiness for those who accept their fate," he murmured faintly, "And glory for those who fight against their fate." Bit by bit he was losing himself, but that didn't matter. Nothing did any more. Yet, suddenly, something broke through the haze enveloping his fading mind. A voice that didn't belong to the oak, but one he still recognized. "That voice…," he whispered, "I know it… It belongs to someone…very special… One who…means more to me…than anything…" He cracked his eyes open and looked up as the oak's voice continued to echo around him repeating the same phrase over and over. Fakir wasn't focusing on that anymore. There was a light shining from above him that the other voice was calling from. The voice that sounded so sad and desperate. He didn't want the one to whom it belonged to sound that way. Not now, and not ever. He breathed her name in wonder as he reached up for the light, "Ahiru…"

Everything Fakir had been experiencing vanished in a flash of light and for a split second afterward he felt the cold, hard sensation of wood enveloping every part of him except his face…and even that felt stiff as a board. Then suddenly the feeling was gone and he started to fall limply to the ground. He had no strength left after everything he'd been through. Yet before he could hit the cold surface, a familiar pair of arms enveloped him. 'Ahiru,' his tired mind supplied as she carefully lowered them both to the ground before hugging him tightly to her chest. "I'm sorry, Fakir," Ahiru apologized tearfully, "I couldn't do anything. Not a thing…" That was wrong. Completely and absolutely wrong, and the exhausted young man knew he couldn't let her go on believing that. 'You saved my life,' he admitted as he tried to muster up enough strength to speak, 'I would have died if not for you calling to me…' "I could hear your voice," he murmured tiredly as he forced his eyes open, "Your voice…called me back…" Fakir then fell into a deep slumber with a tired sigh unaware of the look of shock his words had triggered on the white-clad ballerina's face. "Fakir," she breathed quietly as she looked down at the sleeping young man in her arms before smiling and burying her face in his hair, "Thank you…"

 **A/N:** And that is the end of that! I admit, I got the idea for the whole Fakir suffering hallucinations from another fic; specifically 'Her Voice, My Strength' by lightningpelt. GO READ IT! I use different hallucinations and the events are also different, but the idea to even have them exist in the first place came from there. I draw my inspiration from many places. On another note…I have a…somewhat embarrassing confession for you guys. You realize I edit everything I write very heavily before I post them, right? Sometimes those edits happen seconds after I type something in. I had one of those happen this chapter. You see, I have a natural tendency to use elaborate and highly technical language. Not just when I write, but also when speaking. This…can be a bit awkward sometimes, and I don't always realize how bad it sounds immediately because _to me_ it makes perfect sense. Case in point: you know the phrase 'as he was already pretty tired when he started' around mid-chapter? The original version for all of fifteen seconds until I looked back over it and realized how clunky it sounded was 'as he had already been operating under a slight deficit of adequate sleep.' …Yeah…this is how I actually speak in real life sometimes. Never try to memorize a dictionary, people. You will end up knowing far more words than you will ever be able to use without people looking at you like you are insane or a show-off. Thirteen-year old me was an _idiot_ … Then again, that was also the same year I tried to work out the exact distance light travels in a year on a piece of scratch paper….by hand….without a calculator. Dear God, I had such a headache after that… Never doing that again! I am one of those people who are too curious for their own good because I often end up doing things I end up regretting. It hasn't killed me yet but the headaches from the fried brain circuits… Ow… And _then_ there are the word problems I end up writing when I'm working on a story because I end up coming up with some detail that needs to be worked out for reference purposes… The sad thing is…I don't even _like_ math that much! Yet I keep doing it! The hell is _wrong_ with me?! …Okay, I'm done with my little freak-out/confession and I feel better now. This chapter was fun to write, and I am looking forward to the next ones as well. We are in the final stretch people! The fic is almost over! This makes me sad….but also happy…. Damned emotions confusing the hell out of me all the time… WHY CAN'T YOU MAKE SENSE?! Well, I'll see you all next chapter everyone. Till then!


	23. You want to WHAT?

**A/N:** Due to the fact that Fakir spends most of the episode talking to the oak and I don't think I can write that much cryptic dialogue, this chapter will not be starting where the episode it is based on does. Instead, it will be picking up about where the other left off. As in maybe a few minutes later, give or take. It keeps the chapter from being ridiculously short, and saves me from having to try and fail at being cryptic. I'm too direct. That's my problem. Cryptic is just not in my nature. I'd rather tell you what is going on in detail than be vague about it. It makes my life difficult sometimes as that is something that can ruin a story…so I have to stop myself and sit and think as I try to work out how to arrange things in a way that is interesting for you all to read while not being…well, cryptic. Because I'm bad at it. I should never write in the mystery genre… I'd go mad… Well, enough of my rambling. Let's get started, shall we? Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** I think I may actually make it through this story without copying and pasting the disclaimer like in all my other multi-chapter stories! Sweet! Oh, yeah…. I still don't own Princess Tutu. It would be freaking awesome if I did, though! But I am poor…so that will never happen… Now I am sad…

Chapter 23: You want to WHAT?!

Ahiru soon realized that her slumbering friend was _not_ going to be waking up any time soon. She couldn't really say it was unexpected considering that he had been awake for three and a half days straight. Fakir needed the rest. The problem was he wasa _lot_ taller and more muscular than she was which made him extremely difficult to move. Her previous attempt had ended with her dragging him and nearly dropping him several times before he woke up. Somehow, she didn't think she'd get that lucky this time; he was clearly too worn out. The transformed ballerina sighed before stiffening as she heard a low groan from behind her. Her eyes widened as she realized she had _completely_ forgotten about Autor being shocked by a powerful surge of electricity when he'd tried grabbing the taller teen's shoulder. Gently, she shifted the sleeping young man off of her chest and onto the ground before standing and running over to check on the music student.

She dispelled her transformation in the process as she knew only certain people could make her out as being human. She wasn't sure if the blue-haired teen was one of them, but if he _wasn't_ … It would be really awkward for him if he woke up to the sight of a large talking swan. Ahiru wanted to spare him that if she could. So it was a concerned, normal school girl bent over him that the bleary eyed young man woke up to and not her magical ballerina alter-ego. "How are you feeling," she asked concernedly. "I'll live," Autor grumbled as he groped for his glasses and placed them back on his face before scowling up at her in annoyance, "If you would mind moving back a bit I would like to stand." The red-head frowned uncertainly, but did as he asked. He didn't _seem_ to be suffering any ill effects. The glasses-wearing teen straightened up and started casually brushing off his uniform before shooting the diminutive ballerina an annoyed glance. "Is there a _reason_ you're staring at me," he snapped irately. "I was just worried," the blue-eyed girl retorted, "You were shocked pretty badly earlier!" "Well, as you can no doubt tell," the blue haired young man huffed, "I have recovered from that. Go back to worrying about your friend. He's the one who actually _needs_ it right now I expect."

The red-head scowled at the rude young man, but conceded he had a point. Clearly, Autor didn't need her concern with how he was acting, and Fakir was still out cold. She needed to get him home. Still, she would at least _attempt_ to be polite one more time. "Well," Ahiru smiled weakly, "Take care, Autor-san…" "Yes, yes. You too, I suppose," he grumbled under his breath as he walked away, "Strange girl…" The blue-eyed girl sighed before returning to her slumbering friend's side. He had curled into a half-fetal position while she'd been checking on the glasses-wearing teen; it made him look surprisingly adorable. At least this time he was only sleeping and wasn't injured on top of everything else. She wouldn't have to be nearly as worried about moving him.

Well, there was no point in stalling any longer. He would rest better in an actual bed anyways. Ahiru knelt down next to her friend before gently pulling him into a semi-upright position before slinging one arm over her shoulders and wrapping her own arm around his waist. She then stood and started the long walk to the smith's house. Hopefully, Charon would still be awake because she didn't think Fakir would appreciate it if he woke up in his sleep clothes and learned she had been the one to undress him. Considering how upset it made him when Uzura played around with her transformations and his admitted discomfort over the whole not wearing enough clothes around him thing… It would make sense if he would be just as uncomfortable if their positions in those instances were reversed. She'd rather not risk upsetting him.

Ahiru had drastically underestimated just how much more tiring dragging her older friend's slumbering form would be as herself and not as Tutu. He was _heavy_! By the time she reached the door of his home she was on the verge of collapse herself. Still, she had promised him she would do whatever she could to help him and this counted. Panting tiredly, she reached up to knock on the door as she prayed that Charon wasn't asleep. She was in luck, as the man had been up late working on a commission and had only just started getting ready to turn in for the night. The smith opened the door with a puzzled frown on his face due to the late hour, but his look of confusion soon gave way to one of concern the second his eyes fell upon the two teens. "Fakir," he exclaimed as he took his son's sleeping form from the exhausted girl before relaxing slightly as he realized the teen was unharmed and asked the red-head more calmly, "What happened?"

"Fakir had to stand for three days straight without food, sleep, or water to supposedly hone his mind or something," Ahiru replied tiredly, "Then right after he was told to contact the spirit of an old oak tree and nearly got turned into a tree himself… I am _never_ leaving him alone with that guy again… Learning how to write shouldn't require you to almost die…" Charon sighed sadly as he cradled the slumbering young man in his arms before admitting, "I agree. Yet he seems to keep suffering all these close calls lately… I can only pray his luck for avoiding the worst continues to hold out. I don't want to lose him." The red-head shook her head, "You won't." She then yawned tiredly and tried to straighten up from where she had been leaning against the door only to end up falling on her face as her knees buckled in exhaustion. "Ow…," she whined tiredly.

Charon smiled sympathetically down at the girl, "You carried him all the way here, right? You must be tired. I have a spare room you can use for the night if you'd like." Ahiru hesitated thinking that she should _really_ be heading back to the dorms, but she was just so tired. "Okay," she mumbled against the floor and started scrunching her way across the room, "I can follow like this…" The smith chuckled before bending down to help her stand upright, "Just hold onto my arm, Miss Ahiru." The exhausted ballerina obeyed and the awkward group slowly made their way across the room, and to the stairs. The spare room in question once belonged to Raetsel and was still decorated in a fashion that suited a young woman's taste. It was just down the hall from Fakir's room.

The blue-eyed girl stumbled in once they reached it and slumped onto the mattress with a relieved sigh before rolling over to look back at the older man, "Thank you for your hospitality, Charon-san." "After everything you have done to aid my son this past year," he smiled back kindly, "It is the least I can do." The worn-out red-head flushed in embarrassment and murmured, "I haven't done that much…" "Fakir believes otherwise," Charon replied as he turned to put his son to bed, "In fact, I would say he is more grateful for your presence in his life than he could ever say." Ahiru's blush deepened at that, but did not speak again. Learning that her older friend thought so highly of her was a bit shocking since he didn't really show it; then again, she knew full well that was just how he was. After kicking off her shoes, and squirming around a bit to get under the covers, she started to drop off to sleep. She'd think more about this in the morning after checking up on her sleeping friend.

The smith didn't take long to get Fakir settled and changed into his sleeping clothes. The exhausted teen had barely stirred during the whole process. The most reaction he'd gotten was a sleepy grumble and sigh after laying the young man on his bed. Charon frowned in concern as he took in just how spent his son looked even in sleep. There were dark shadows under his eyes and a faint rasp lingered in his breathing indicating that he was still not recovered from going three days without food or drink. With that thought in mind, the older man fetched a glass of water and raised the teen's head to help him drink it. To his relief, the young man was not so far out of it that he couldn't swallow and the rasp was much better after he finished the glass. The sandy-haired man knew he was going to have a lot of work ahead of him nursing his son back to full health, but he didn't mind. That's what being a father meant. Content in the knowledge that Fakir was not likely to need to be watched overnight, Charon headed back downstairs to return to getting ready for bed himself. He'd probably refrain from opening the shop tomorrow under the circumstances and possibly the day after as well. It depended on how long it took for his son to wake up. The smith hoped it would be soon as there was something he felt he needed to discuss with the teen, and the sooner the better.

In the end, it took two full days for the exhausted teen to recover from his ordeal to the point he was fully awake. He'd roused partially a few times and the smith had taken advantage of them to try to get his son to eat before he slipped back under. Even after he'd fully awakened, Fakir wasn't really in any condition to leave his bed. There was no medical name for the strain a body suffered from nearly being turned into a tree before returning to normal, but it had done a number on him regardless. Not to mention he was still ill from going three days and nights without food or drink. The small meal Autor had given him, and the few mouthfuls his father had managed to force down his throat had helped stop him from getting _worse_ but he was nowhere near recovered. The dark-haired young man sighed tiredly as he leaned back against his pillows and flipped through one of the books he'd checked out. He hated being an invalid. He really did.

He hated it even more now that he'd actually made some progress towards learning how to use his abilities; in spite of it nearly killing him, talking to the oak had helped. Yes, he only understood a little of what it said and that little wasn't really useful to helping him write. Yet he _felt_ different now. Fakir flexed his fingers as he gazed at his right hand thoughtfully. 'Ever since waking up I've had this tingling feeling,' he mused, 'Like I _could_ probably write something if I tried now. Of course, _controlling_ my abilities is still an issue. I don't know enough yet.' He was resolved that once he'd recovered a bit more he'd go back to the oak and try speaking with it again. The dark haired teen could admit that talking with the ancient spirit while exhausted and ill, in retrospect, had not been the smartest thing to do. In fact, after thinking about it, doing so was practically suicide. He wondered if Autor had been aware of that when he'd come up with the idea of testing him, though he honestly doubted it. The glasses wearing young man may be obsessed with a long-dead madman, annoyingly condescending, and painfully arrogant but he wasn't malicious enough to kill someone who had asked for his help. Most likely he just hadn't known as much as he thought he did.

There was no denying the other teen knew a lot about Drosselmeyer and admired the man immensely. That much was obvious. Yet that didn't mean he knew all of the details. The man _had_ died close to one-hundred and fifty years ago and there had apparently been no others born in Goldkrone with similar abilities in that time span. That mean the glasses wearing young man had been forced to gather his intel from books…and the fledgling writer knew full well that sometimes things could be left out. The problem was Autor was remarkably thoughtless in some respects. So much so that, chances were, the other teen had discounted the importance of the details left out of the books he'd read. If they weren't important enough to be included then they _must_ be irrelevant. Fakir, on the other hand, knew matters were seldom that simple. There were all sorts of reasons details could be left out of books. The author could have not known a particular fact, they could have been lied to while they were doing research, someone else could have deliberately hidden important facts for reasons of their own, an important matter could have been forgotten long before the author started writing, and the list just went on. The glasses wearing teen was so arrogant, though, that trying to tell him he _might_ be wrong was an exercise in futility. In short, he was an _idiot_.

The dark haired young man sighed again as he shut the book he'd been trying to read. It wasn't as though it had been helping him work things out any further, and he simply _could not_ keep his mind from wandering. Fakir gazed calmly at the ceiling as his thoughts drifted back to his encounter with the oak tree. A soft smile spread across his face as he thought back on how calming communing with the oak had been. Cryptic though it may have been, it had been trying to teach him what he needed to know. Speaking with the long-dead oak had felt familiar. The green-eyed teen had been reminded of Edel in that respect. He wondered if there hadn't been some sort of connection between the puppet and the ancient tree. Somehow…he believed that there was; something he half-remembered though he didn't know where from. At the very least, he knew it had sometimes taken him a while to make sense of the late puppet woman's cryptic speech.

Fakir found he was having similar troubles with the oak. Perhaps the similarity in their speech patterns was the sole link, but his instincts insisted it was not. Still it wasn't _that_ important. Focusing back on the oak's words, he resumed puzzling them out. Granted, it was much easier now that he wasn't half-dead from exhaustion. That hadn't been its fault, though. The tree had not _actually_ tried to kill him and had easily let him go once he sought to return to Ahiru. Not to mention it had sounded almost reluctant to go along with his desire to fade away into nothing in the first place. The former knight flinched slightly as he recalled that decision. 'I never would have come to such a conclusion if I had been thinking clearly,' he admitted ruefully, 'My mind simply does _not_ work right when I am tired…'

A sudden knock at the door snapped the young man out of his thoughts and he glanced over curiously as it opened. "Charon," Fakir blinked in surprise and slight concern at the troubled look gracing his father's face, "Is something wrong?" The man gazed at his son silently from the doorway for a few moments, then sighed and walked in before pulling a chair up beside the bed. "There's something I need to ask you and I want you to answer me honestly," Charon frowned seriously as he sat. The dark-haired young man tensed slightly, but nodded and murmured back, "All right. I promise… What is it you want to know?" The smith studied the young man for a few moments and sighed quietly. He had a feeling that his question would cause the teen some distress, but he also knew that his son had a bad habit of hiding when something was bothering him. It wasn't healthy, so whenever the boy slipped up…the older man would take the chance to try and convince him to talk about it.

"I noticed something before you left with Ahiru and Uzura. In truth, I've suspected something was off for a while before then yet I wasn't sure until that moment. You flinched…when Ahiru was insisting the two of you were nothing more than friends," the smith explained slowly, then hesitated a few moments before finally asking bluntly, "Ahiru is more than a friend to you, isn't she?" The young writer's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. He should have known he wouldn't be able to keep his feelings a secret forever, but he'd hoped he could. Being called out on them all of a sudden was a bit of a shock. In truth, he really didn't want to answer the question, but he'd already promised. He couldn't break his word. Reluctantly, Fakir nodded and whispered, "I'm in love with her…" The older man sighed, "I thought as much. For how long?" "I'm not sure when it started," the malachite-eyed teen admitted quietly, "I think I may have fallen for her long before I ever realized it, but…the incident with the Ghost Knight after she had been hurt… That's when I knew."

"Yet you haven't told her," Charon observed with a concerned frown. "I have my reasons," Fakir looked down at his sheets and clenched his fists in the fabric as he replied. "I imagine I can guess some of them," the smith mused sympathetically, "In the story, Princess Tutu loved the prince. Ahiru reflects that, doesn't she?" The former knight flinched, but nodded silently. That _was_ one of the biggest reasons. "I imagine her being a duck is also an issue," the older man sighed with a wry look at his son, "Since she probably won't remain human forever." "When the story ends," the dark-haired young man whispered brokenly, "So will its power over her. Once that power fades she'll return to being a duck for the rest of her life…unless Mytho chooses to bring her back to the story with him as his princess. She loves being human. I _won't_ jeopardize her chances for a happy ending just because I was _stupid_ enough to fall in love with the _one girl_ I could never have a future with anyways…"

His father frowned in concern at the sheer despair in the teen's voice before gently countering, "You might still have a chance. There is no guarantee that Mytho will return her feelings." "He'd better," Fakir growled, "She deserves to be happy!" "Even if it's not with you," Charon finished with a sigh. The green-eyed writer nodded sharply before sighing himself and murmuring, "At least, that's what I keep telling myself. I want to be selfish. I want her to feel the same way about me more than anything, but… I also love her too much to deny her what _she_ wants…and she doesn't want me… It's always been Mytho…and it always will be." The smith could see that the dark haired teen was growing steadily more depressed the longer he spoke about his feelings for the red-haired ballerina, and so opted to drop the topic. Besides, he'd gotten his son to talk about how he felt after months of hiding. Perhaps, now, his unrequited feelings wouldn't pain him as much. The older man could hope.

It was another three days before Fakir managed to fully recover from his ordeal. Ahiru had stopped by a few times to visit in that time and _finally_ explained why she'd burst into Autor's house on her last visit. "Mytho did _what,_ " the young writer gaped as she finished recounting the incident as best as she could remember. "He yelled at Rue-chan after twisting her arm," the red-head repeated with a troubled frown, "It was surprising for me too. He's never hurt her before!" The dark-haired teen frowned deeply as he considered what she told him. He'd already concluded that the Raven's Daughter was as much of a victim as the rest of them; if anything, this incident proved it. "The Raven lied to her," he finally sighed, "Its blood isn't going to bind the prince's heart to hers. It's going to break him. She must have started realizing that by now…" "Rue-chan," the blue-eyed girl whimpered sadly. "I think I can save her, too," the young man admitted, "At least, I'm going to try after I talk to the oak again a few more times." "Are you sure that's safe," the diminutive ballerina fretted uneasily.

"I know what it is that went wrong last time," the young writer assured her with a kind smile, "I won't get sucked in again." She'd still tagged along with him when he returned to the museum yard to speak with the oak. School had let out for the day, so she spent the entire time watching him. Contact this time around was far smoother. There was no jolt, and no falling sensation accompanied by flashes of his home town from strange perspectives. One second he had been sitting in the field, and the next he was under the oak in its timeless space. "I need to speak with you again," Fakir stated firmly. "There is more I have to say," it replied gently, "Do you now understand my words from our last contact?" "To hear what has no sound and see what cannot be seen," he murmured, "You were talking about stories. People like me…we can feel them, can't we?" "To shape the flow of events through the dance of pen on paper, to see matters unfold without looking upon them, to hear what is spoken without being present," it confirmed approvingly, "Such is the power of the Spinners."

"New stories don't always begin for a reason," Fakir continued thoughtfully, "Because inspiration doesn't work that way. It just comes which is why beginnings are a coincidence. Yet once it is begun a story _must_ have an ending. To leave a story unfinished is cruel particularly when it has been given life by a Spinner. Such stories want to end and the characters in them _will_ take action on their own if an ending is denied to them." He paused for a few moments as he considered something before finishing quietly, "That's why Goldkrone ended up getting drawn into the events of 'The Prince and the Raven'. Drosselmeyer died before it could be finished and the characters were trapped in a never ending repetition of events. Then the two principal characters escaped into reality and the story came to life in an attempt to find its ending. Based on his track record, Drosselmeyer probably would prefer it if the tale ended in tragedy, but _I_ can't live with that. I want to change it, but I don't know how to go about doing that…"

"Stories care not about the endings they are given," the oak stated, "So long as it is an ending." "So I can't count on the story for guidance," the young writer sighed, "Meaning it really _is_ up to me to shape it… "Why do you want to write a new ending," the tree asked sternly. Fakir hesitated before slowly replying, "There has been too much tragedy already… Mytho, Ahiru, and even Rue have all suffered because of this story. They deserve a happy ending after everything they've all been through." "And what of yourself," the ancient oak inquired in a gentler tone, "Have you not also suffered?" "I'm used to making sacrifices for the sake of others," the former knight admitted softly, "What I want doesn't matter. So long as I can give them happiness I will pay whatever price is asked of me." "And so you prove to understand the role of a Spinner far better than your ancestor ever did," the oak's voice sighed happily, "It is not for their own gratification that they shape reality, but for others. Listen well, young Spinner, and you will learn what it is you need to know."

It wasn't until Ahiru shook his shoulder many hours later that the young writer emerged from his communion with the ancient tree. She noted he seemed oddly thoughtful as he climbed back to his feet, and moved to return home. "Do you think you can write a Mytho's story yet," the blue-eyed girl asked curiously as she followed him. "Not quite," Fakir admitted, "The oak's about as cryptic as Edel was so it takes me a while to unravel its meaning. I _think_ I'm starting to get a better idea of how to use my abilities, but there are still some things I'm missing. Give me a few more days, all right?" "Okay," she nodded with an uneasy frown. The rest of the day passed uneventfully and the next morning he returned to the field with a curious Uzura in tow. Technically, he should be on his way to campus since he wasn't sick anymore, but his priorities were clear. School was being placed on the shelf until the story was _over_.

Chances were he wasn't going to be allowed to continue attending the School of Ballet after this, either way. The Dean had sent a rather…unpleasant letter to his house while he'd been out informing him of _that_. 'There's always the School of Writing,' Fakir mused idly as he sat before the stone conduit and reached out to open the connection. He lost track of time once more as the tree immediately started speaking to him the second he made contact. It wasn't until he heard a familiar yelp that he snapped back into awareness and glanced over to where the child-like puppet had been watching. Ahiru was standing there as well, much to his surprise considering that _she_ still was in good standing, and was freaking out about the time of all things. Uzura, of course, was banging on her drum again. A soft, irritated noise slipped out of him as she finally noticed he was watching. "A-ah," she yelped as she flailed her hand rapidly, "Um, sorry!" The diminutive ballerina then immediately started steering the green-haired puppet out of the field ahead of her with a bright smile directed his way, "Come on, Uzura-chan, let's go!"

He sighed softly as she left before allowing an amused smile to flicker across his face. Ahiru would always be Ahiru no matter what else changed. Fakir appreciated the fact that she cared enough to see how he was doing even though it meant she risked being late to school. Besides, she'd clearly been there for far longer than she'd intended and had been quiet the entire time. She'd only yelped because she was panicking. As annoying as the interruption was, he had no trouble forgiving her for the sudden outburst. The young man turned back to the stone and resumed contact with the oak's spirit with a brief apology and explanation. The ancient tree was not displeased. In fact, it was surprisingly amused to hear about the diminutive ballerina before resuming its cryptic lecture.

The former knight once again lost all awareness of the outside world as he focused on its words. Hours passed, yet he did not move an inch as he listened intently. It wasn't until the oak suddenly cut itself off that he had any inkling that something was amiss. "What is it," he inquired softly as he looked up into its spectral branches. "You must wake up," it replied harshly, "Quickly!" Fakir returned to reality with a soft gasp of surprise as the tree literally shoved him out of the timeless space. The second his awareness returned, however, so too did that familiar sensation of being watched. His eyes snapped open and he looked around to find he was being flanked by several cloaked figures. Many of them were holding large axes threateningly. This…was not good.

Fakir shot to his feet and turned to face the men watching him threateningly as they moved to surround him fully. "Who are you people," he asked warily. "We are the Bookmen," the shortest of the cloaked men replied, "If intend to try spinning a story using Drosselmeyer's power we must stop you." "The Bookmen," the young writer repeated in wary confusion. "Our ancestors cut off Drosselmeyer's hands," the short figure explained as he and his companions moved in, "So that he could never write again. If one of his descendants is going to try and spin a new story we must bestow the same fate upon him. That is the duty passed down to us over generations." The dark-haired teen glanced uneasily between the men as they closed in around him. His curiosity had been warring with his caution the entire time, and he realized he should have run when he had the chance as the cloaked man finished speaking.

"Are you saying you're going to try and cut off my hands," he hissed in disbelief. He hadn't even _done_ anything! Cutting off his hands just because they were afraid he _might_ write something was sheer insanity! "Dangerous stories must not be born," the short man declared firmly, "We must stop the stories that were born by burying their endings." A faint gasp escaped the young man as he realized just who these people were. "You're the ones who ripped out the endings to those stories," Fakir demanded quietly. He'd been right. He did find the answer to that particular mystery at the worst possible time… The diminutive cloaked man did not respond and only issued a soft order, "Come." "Wait," the young writer started to protest, but cut himself off as one of the other men held his axe up to his neck. "Do not disobey," the man hissed threateningly and the green-eyed teen swallowed hard before nodding submissively. He wasn't stupid enough to argue when there was an axe-blade resting against his throat.

As the men led him through town they kept their axes close. At least one was always hovering near the young man's neck and it was making him increasingly anxious. Not that their earlier threat to cut of his hands hadn't been worrying enough on its own. Fakir wasn't an idiot. He knew that their intention was not just to stop him from writing. Having both of his hands cut off could easily result in him bleeding to death through the severed stumps, and it was pretty clear that these men didn't care enough to try and keep him alive. If he couldn't find some way to escape he was going to die. 'This is getting ridiculous,' he complained to himself morosely, 'It's only been a little over three months since the year began and this is the _fourth_ deliberateattempt on my life! The universe doesn't just hate me. It loathes me with every fiber of its being! I'm not even being paranoid at this point. It _really is_ out to get me!' His nerves were not helped by the fact that his captors were resolutely silent as they made their way through the darkening streets.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and demanded quietly, "Where are you taking me?" "You will see soon enough," the short figure replied with a short laugh that did nothing to ease the young writer's fears. "I'm going to die, aren't I," Fakir sighed bitterly. This time he got no response which only served to confirm his suspicions. These men meant to kill him…in cold blood…and it wasn't even because they were part of the story. They probably thought were _fighting_ it. He'd find it bitterly ironic – if his life wasn't on the line – that they were out to kill someone who wanted the same thing they did: to prevent Drosselmeyer's story from doing any further harm!

Eventually they brought him to an overgrown hedge behind an old abandoned building. Nestled back in a nook in the hedge was an old, worn gravestone. Fakir's eyes widened in surprise as he made out the name engraved in the stone. "What is this," he demanded uneasily. "The grave of the man who toyed with people's lives and broke down the wall between stories and reality," the short figure intoned grimly. "This is Drosselmeyer's grave," the young writer repeated in horrified awe as he stared at the stone. The grave of the man who wrote 'The Prince and The Raven' so many years ago; the man who was still interfering in matters from beyond the veil of death, though to what extent the young man still wasn't entirely sure.

The grave of the ancestor whose actions had so shamed his children and grandchildren that they had changed their family name to dissociate themselves from him. He'd known it had to exist, but to actually _see_ it… Why would the Bookmen show him this? He soon got his answer. "We will cut off your hands and seal them away here," the short man informed him which caused the young man turn whip around and stare in disbelief. "Why," he pleaded desperately as the others started closing in, "I'm trying to find a way to bring Drosselmeyer's story to an end that _won't_ be a tragedy!" "We cannot trust one of Drosselmeyer's blood," the short man replied grimly, "You will only make matters worse." "Don't do this," Fakir breathed as he tried to back away, "Please… I swear I am not your enemy. Please!"

The young writer's pleas fell on deaf ears and two of the other figures seized his arms before dragging him forward. Fakir started to struggle desperately as yet another figure pulled out a wooden chopping block and laid it on the lawn. "No," he cried out as the men holding him pulled him over to the block, "Stop it! I have to write!" The cloaked figures continued to ignore him as two others approached and yanked his arms forward before pinning them to the block. The young man continued to struggle but to no avail. Two of the axe men drew near and raised their blades high into the air as the horrified teen's breath caught in his throat. Suddenly his salvation came in the form of a familiar voice echoing his earlier cries, "Stop it!"

The men surrounding him froze as a beam of white light suddenly illuminated them and a burst of feathers came down from the sky overhead. The former knight sighed in relief as Ahiru in Tutu's form leapt down from somewhere up above and gracefully landed on the chopping block before spreading her arms out to the side with a stern frown on her face. "Princess Tutu," the short man gasped as he fell back. The young writer didn't think he'd ever been more grateful to see her as he was in that moment for the rest of the cloaked men had retreated as well. 'This is the second time you've saved me,' he thought as he raised himself up into a kneeling position just as the white-clad ballerina turned to look down at him in concern, 'Ahiru. I can never thank you enough for this.' The dark-haired young man stood and looked up at her with a soft smile as he spoke earnestly, "Thank you." "Thank goodness," the red-haired ballerina sighed in relief.

Perhaps more would have been spoken between the two after that. Fakir, for his part, was fighting down the urge to embrace her and bury his face in her hair before kissing her. Somehow, he doubted he'd be able to pass that off as sheer relief since he wasn't known for being physically affectionate. Ahiru was also trying to keep from hugging him though for different reasons. She knew full well her older friend was likely to react with annoyance if she tried that. Perhaps the young writer's self-control would have failed, though. Perhaps he would have accidentally given his true feelings away and had to deal with the fallout. Perhaps the red-haired ballerina would have gradually come to accept and one day return those feelings if only she'd known they'd existed. Perhaps this story could have ended very differently…yet none of these were to be.

Before either of them could make another move a strange gear suddenly swung over the white-clad ballerina and trapped her inside of it. Fakir blinked in stunned surprise as his younger friend's eyes widened in confusion before tentatively reaching out. "Huh," Ahiru gasped uneasily, "What is this?" "What is this," the young writer echoed as his hand passed through the gear as though it wasn't even there and he drew it back to stare in bemusement, "What's going on here?!" The gear suddenly pulled away as an unfamiliar voice started scolding the increasingly distressed blue-eyed ballerina, "It's dangerous to show everything to those abominations, Princess Tutu!" The gear continued to pull back as the voice spoke and slowly merged with the tombstone behind it. Yet before it vanished, to the young man's growing shock and horror, Uzura ran in from out of nowhere and leapt into the gear. He'd never heard that voice before, yet somehow…Fakir had a feeling of just who it belonged to.

The young writer's eyes narrowed furiously as he demanded in a menacing tone, "Is that you, Drosselmeyer?" His only answer was an echoing laugh before everything was silent once more. Ahiru had vanished utterly…stolen away by Drosselmeyer for some unknown reason. Fakir gritted his teeth angrily before whipping back around to glare at the Bookmen to demand answers. Yet he froze as he recognized the short man who had spoken the most. His hood had fallen back revealing the face of the old shopkeeper. "You're," he realized, "that man from the used bookstore…" The old man sighed before beginning to explain, "Before Drosselmeyer lost his hands he had built a device that would him to continue to weaving stories even after his death. This town is being controlled by his story because of that device, but we cannot even tell which parts are real and which are of the story. However, no one inside this story was expected to become Princess Tutu, and yet she appeared and tried to protect you. And now Princess Tutu has been captured by Drosselmeyer. The story may now be at a stage where there is nothing we can do to combat it. If so, the only one who can fight is the one who shares the same blood."

The former knight was taken off guard by that statement. This entire time he'd thought his enemy was the Monster Raven. Even as a writer, that was how he'd been approaching the situation. Yet if what they were saying was true his real foe was far greater. "Are you saying," Fakir sought to clarify incredulously, "That what I'm up against is not the Monster Raven, but Drosselmeyer's story itself?" The old shopkeeper did not answer him but instead countered with a question of his own, "Can we believe that you are not someone who would toy around with stories?" The old man _had_ already indicated that the Bookmen were not comfortable with trusting one descended from Drosselmeyer's line; let alone one who shared his power. Yet they were willing to do so now that it appeared they had no alternative. Perhaps it would be best if the young writer accepted their words to be the truth…even if they _were_ hard to believe. If that was the case he had another problem they might be able to help with. Fakir knew there was something he was still missing that was inhibiting his ability to write. If they could give him some sort of clue…

"But there is still something I'm lacking," he admitted grimly, "I don't even know what it is I'm lacking, so I can't even start writing!" "We can't do anything about it," the old shopkeeper confessed with a short shake of his head, "It is a wall that you must scale yourself." He then started to draw back with the remaining cloaked figures with one final warning, "If you attempt to lead the story down an abominable path, we will have to carry out our duty once more. You would do well to remember that." It wasn't exactly something that was going to be easy to forget. Having a group of crazy old men in cloaks trying to cut off one's hands had a way of burning itself indelibly into one's memory. Fakir was a bit disappointed that the Bookmen had had no advice, but wasn't all that surprised.

With a faint sigh of resignation he turned to look back at Drosselmeyer's grave as his eyes narrowed in a troubled glare. "Drosselmeyer," he snarled bitterly, "The man playing with Mytho's life and everyone else's…" The young man then tensed as his doubts surged before wondering aloud, "But…do I really have the power to fight him? Can I save Mytho? Can I bring Tutu back?" He slowly walked up to the tombstone before laying his hand against it hesitantly. "Ahiru," he breathed sorrowfully, "I don't know if I can do this on my own…" The dark-haired young man squeezed his eyes shut in frustration as he clenched the hand resting on the stone into a fist and whispered, "I can't lose you, though! Dammit!"

 **A/N:** And we are yet another chapter closer to completion. Only four more left after this…unless I decide to put in an epilogue. Still undecided about that to be honest. I'm sure you are all wondering why I spent two paragraphs questioning how much Autor knew about the actual risks Fakir faced last chapter. Basically, everything Fakir was wondering echoed my own thoughts the first time I watched the episode. I read _a lot_. Among the things I've read cover asceticism where practitioners deny themselves certain things for spiritual reasons; also shamanic traditions. The thing is…it's kind of a bad idea to overlap the two. Many shamanic practices involve communing with ancient spirits for all sorts of reasons. Not going into them. I am not an expert and I would probably miss something important. I may still be missing something important. However, I am getting off topic. My point is these spirits are often much more powerful than the shaman is and there is some risk involved with contacting them. So you have Fakir who has just undergone an extremely draining ordeal for ascetic reasons – that was already botched because even the most dedicated ascetic won't deny themselves _water_ while fasting and meditating – with no prior training to really build up his tolerance…attempting to contact an ancient spirit far more powerful than he is again with no prior training. Um… Do I really need to elaborate further on how bad of an idea this is?! By rushing Fakir into his little test Autor could have ended up committing accidental manslaughter and _would have_ if Ahiru hadn't been there. KIND OF WORTH DWELLING ON! I don't think he meant for Fakir to die though. I can see him maybe setting him up to fail in the sense that he is too tired to contact the tree, and I suspect that is what he actually intended to have happen; because of jealousy. Only he miscalculated…and Fakir almost paid the ultimate price. Now I'm sure some of you won't like the fact that I think Autor is jealous of Fakir that early on. Yet…he kind of is. It's pretty clear that he envies Fakir if only because he is Drosselmeyer's direct descendant while he, himself, is of uncertain relation to the man he admires (and is obsessed with). Obsession isn't rational. So yeah, he was already jealous. Autor doesn't like Fakir all that much…but he doesn't want him dead either. That's why I say it was an accident. As you can see, I overthink things a lot. Well, I have nothing else to say right now so I bid you all farewell until next time. See you all next chapter!


	24. Time

**A/N:** I can't believe I have only four chapters left…. I started writing this in October, you know. Now it's almost the end of December. This story has eaten up my life…. I regret none of it! I love Princess Tutu! I love writing! I love this fic! I am going to be sad when it's finished…. But I'm not quite at that point yet. There are still chapters to be written and a story to be told! This is yet another direct continuation chapter because we are heading into yet another season finale (technically series finale too unless HAL Film Maker and TUTU get the money for a third season….PLEASE!)…and they all tend to flow into each other one right after the other at that stage. I am going to be adding a bit of lore, just so you know. Because, really, you should never give me a power as vaguely defined as Story Spinning and _not_ expect me to play around with it! I hope you enjoy my additions because they _will_ be showing up in future Tutu fics. I'll be going over said additions in detail in the end author's notes so worry not, fair readers. All shall be explained in time… Well, let's get this chapter started! Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** If I owned Princess Tutu my head-canon would be canon! Yet it is not… I wish it were canon, though. That would make things _interesting_ …

Chapter 24: Time

Fakir slammed his fist against the headstone furiously before opening his eyes and glaring at the name engraved in the stone. 'Drosselmeyer,' he snarled internally, 'The man who plays around with everyone's fates. Is he out there somewhere, laughing as he watches her and Mytho suffer? Where is she right now? Is she where Drosselmeyer is? Where is that?!' The young writer relaxed his clenched hand and turned it to face him before standing even as he continued staring down at his palm as he reflected on what the old storekeeper had told him before leaving with the other book men. "Was he telling me to write," he wondered before grimly admitting, "I don't have any other way to save her!" The only way that goal could be accomplished was if he somehow managed to write something that called her back from wherever Drosselmeyer had sent her.

The young man didn't have any writing materials with him, but he _did_ have a portable writing board stashed in his room along with a particular duck feather quill. It was the one from Autor's apartment. He had snagged it on impulse just before the trio had headed out for the museum yard. Fakir turned sharply on his heel and ran as fast as he could out of the overgrown yard. The sooner he got home to collect his supplies the sooner he could save Ahiru! The former knight was just as swift as ever as he ran across town, and made it back to his house in under an hour. Charon had just gotten back from the shop and was starting to make dinner when the green-eyed teen slammed the front door open. "Fakir," the smith stared in shock and disapproval, "What on _earth_ …" "Sorry," the dark-haired young man gasped out as he ran across the room for the hall door, "No time! Explain later!" He slammed that door open as well and raced up the stairs before bursting into his room.

The writing board was stashed on the shelf running under his windows along with the quill and several sheaves of paper. It had a tiny ink pot attached to the top left corner with a clamped lid to keep it from spilling. Fakir grabbed an old, beat-up satchel from under his bed and wasted no time in stuffing a sheaf of paper in it along with the board, duck-feather quill, and an old lantern. He then slung the satchel hastily over his shoulder before racing back out of his room, down the stairs, and out of the house without paying the slightest heed to anything else. Nothing mattered more than getting back to that old yard at that moment. Most likely he didn't need to be at that particular spot in order for his writing to work, but he knew full well he was inexperienced in the use of his power.

The young writer needed every ounce of inspiration he could get and being in the place where the girl he loved had been stolen away would provide _plenty_. Admittedly, a fair amount of that inspiration came along with a healthy dose of rage directed at a long dead Spinner. Anger had always been one of his most effective motivators in the past, though; also desperation, love, and compassion. He already was feeling pretty desperate and there was no escaping his love for Ahiru. Add that to the rage and he was not going to be lacking in motivation. Soon enough, the young man arrived at his destination. Even as fit as he was his body had limits, though. He was thoroughly winded from running across town _twice_ without much of a break and ended up doubling over to rest his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. It took far longer than he would have wished because every second he wasn't writing was another second the girl he loved was in Drosselmeyer's clutches.

Once he recovered from his run, the young writer found a medium-sized, half-buried rock in the over-grown yard. It was as good a seat as any, so he set his satchel by the side and started to unpack. He pulled out everything but the quill before taking a seat and getting set up. First he lit the lantern and laid it next to his feet, next he unbound the sheaf of paper and clipped it to the writing board, then he reached into the satchel resting by his side and pulled out the quill, and finally he flicked the clamp holding the lid of the ink pot shut with his thumb popping it open. Fakir delicately dipped the quill in the ink before moving it back over the paper…and hesitated. In all honesty, he hadn't the _slightest_ idea what he should write.

His talk with the oak had made it clear that he had to be very careful with what words he used for a story could easily twist their meaning to something other than he intended. He was also somewhat anxious because of an unknown set of risks his power carried. Not to other people, though. These risks affected the Spinner alone. 'Backlash,' he frowned uneasily, 'I suppose it makes sense that something like that would exist as a limiter.' Backlash was basically exactly that: reality itself protesting the shape the Spinner was forcing it into and striking back at the writer. The tree had hinted at four stages of increasing severity. The further passed the limits of his power he pushed, the more severe the degree of backlash he would suffer. The young man just prayed he'd only have to deal with the first three stages that night. The fourth…he couldn't afford that one right now.

Fakir gritted his teeth and focused. He couldn't afford to fret about backlash either! Grimly he reflected on the first words the oak had ever told him. 'Hear that which has no voice,' he repeated to himself, 'See that which has no form… What am I supposed to do with that? What should I write?' He knew what the words _meant_. He just didn't know how to _use_ it. 'Well, I suppose I could always just try the simple approach,' he mused as he finally lowered the quill to the paper's surface, 'And just reverse…whatever it was Drosselmeyer did.' Yet when he tried to actually write he felt a heavy feeling settle in his lungs and he was overcome by the desire to cough. So this was what backlash felt like…

The young writer choked as he tried to resist, and kept trying to write as sweat beaded on his forehead. However, the more he resisted the harder and harder it became for him to breathe. Finally, it got to be too much and he threw down the writing board as he staggered off to the side a few steps before falling to all fours. Fakir clenched his eyes shut as his body was wracked by a brutal coughing fit. He could taste something salty and bitter in his mouth as he coughed which set off all sorts of alarm bells. Sure enough, when he cracked open his eyes after the fit faded, there was blood spattered on the grass. The backlash had caused the small blood vessels in his lungs to rupture and only allowed them to heal when he stopped trying to write.

The young writer was not to be deterred, however. Even as he choked and panted heavily from the after effects his resolve remained unchanged. "Damn it," he swore weakly as he staggered back to his feet, "I have to write!" His steps were unsteady as he walked back to the rock and heavily sat down once more. His malachite green eyes were dulled from the residual pain in his chest from the coughing fit as he reached down to pick up his abandoned writing board once more. "I have to write this," he repeated hoarsely as he raised his quill once more. Fakir was still breathing heavily, but he wasn't going to let anything stop him. He tried once more to write down his idea. This time the backlash manifested as a blinding migraine and he groaned weakly as he closed his eyes. The duck-feather quill fell from his fingers as he raised his hands to cradle his aching head.

He'd had migraines before, but never as bad as this! His vision was literally blacking out from the pain and the vertigo was so bad it was all he could do to remain upright! Once more, the effects faded shortly after he stopped trying to write. "Damn it," he swore again as his eyes fluttered back open. His vision was still a bit blurry and he had to blink several times before it came back into focus. Stubbornly he picked up his quill for the third time and tried to write. Reality rejected his attempt yet again and struck back with a surge of agonizing pain that wrung a strangled cry from his throat. It felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside out! Fakir gritted his teeth in agony as he doubled over and let the writing board fall to the ground once more. 'I might,' he finally admitted after the pain receded enough that he could think, 'Need to write something else…'

The problem was he hadn't the slightest idea of what else he _could_ write that would bring Ahiru back to him. The backlash alone indicated that whatever Drosselmeyer had done was far beyond the young man's abilities at this point in time. 'Time,' he moaned internally as he raised his right hand to his face in despair, 'If only I'd had more time to work things out… I have only the slightest idea of what I'm doing and _no time_ in which to find out more! I can't just leave Ahiru where she is while I stumble around looking for answers! I have to save her somehow!' If only he could come up with an idea that _wouldn't_ trigger another bout of backlash. Fakir wasn't sure how many more episodes as bad as the last ones he could honestly take. Desperately, he wracked his mind for something, _anything_ that he could write.

He sat there for several minutes before a familiar condescending voice interrupted him, "It looks as if you reached your limit, huh?" The young writer gritted his teeth in irritation as Autor walked up next to where he was sitting as he continued to speak, "It was pretty sharp of you to pick Drosselmeyer's grave to write at, but if the words you need to write aren't coming without you even having to think…" "Could you please be quiet," the former knight forced himself to ask politely. "Even though I have so many things I want to write myself," the glasses wearing teen grumbled, "How ironic." Fakir ignored the other teen as he sunk back into his desperate search for inspiration… _any_ inspiration. "Quickly," he muttered absently, "I have to write something quickly…"

Autor frowned in concern as he noticed the cold sweat covering the taller teen's face. "Hey," he inquired uneasily, "Are you all right?" Fakir continued to ignore the other teen as he finally had an idea. 'Maybe if I try to write about Drosselmeyer I can find where Ahiru is,' he thought as he picked up his writing materials once more, 'If my fears about her being in that same space are correct.' The young writer took a deep, shaking breath as he dipped his quill in the ink once more and prepared to write. Yet the second he set the tip on the paper and tried to move it a new wave of pain struck. It wasn't as sharp as the last one had been, but it still forced an agonized groan from his lips as he clenched his eyes shut. This time the pain was a dull ache that reminded him of the complaints his body had thrown at him after his first extra practice session. Normally, he'd have been more able to tolerate it, but the earlier bouts of backlash had weakened him slightly.

Fakir started to shiver and pant heavily as he tried to force himself to write through the pain. Only that seemed to trigger reality to try another approach and the pain suddenly turned to severe nausea. The sudden shift caught the young man off guard and he gagged before slapping his free hand over his mouth. Another groan escaped him as he dropped his quill, wrapped his arm around his stomach, and doubled over again from the churning feeling in his gut. Autor's eyes widened in shock at the clear suffering the dark-haired teen was going through and reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong with you," he demanded. The young writer didn't respond immediately and breathed deeply several times as the nausea slowly faded. Finally he glanced over at the other young man and murmured shakily, "Backlash… The oak tree warned me about this, but…I wasn't expecting it to be this bad…"

The glasses wearing teen frowned in confusion, "What on earth is backlash?!" "Reality doesn't always accept the changes being forced on it," Fakir replied quietly as he reached out for his quill once more, "Backlash is how it fights back. If a Spinner tries to write something that is beyond the limits of their power they suffer the effects of backlash. There are four stages and the further past your limits you push…the more severely it manifests. This…isn't as bad as it was earlier." Autor's frown deepened as he grabbed the dark-haired young man's wrist before he could try writing once more. "So you're basically torturing yourself as you test out the limits of your power," he snapped scornfully as he pulled the other teen to his feet, "Why would you do something so _stupid_?!" "He took Ahiru," the young writer snapped back as he wrenched his hand away and stood up to glare at the other teen. "Who," the blue-haired young man inquired skeptically.

"Drosselmeyer," the former knight growled as he turned his glare on the headstone. The glasses-wearing young man's eyes widened again as an eager smile spread across his face. "Drosselmeyer," he exclaimed, "Truly?!" Fakir turned to glare at Autor again when suddenly the wind started to blow furiously. The green-eyed young man raised his arm to shield his face from the debris carried by the sudden wind before his eyes suddenly narrowed as he felt something…off. All of his instincts started screaming at him that this wind was not normal. Something was going _very_ wrong. "What's happening," he demanded as he shifted the writing board so that it was up against his chest. The last thing the young writer needed was for his papers to be blown away. "The story is flowing backwards," the blue-haired teen exclaimed fearfully.

Fakir stiffened as he glanced behind him, "What?" "Stop it," Autor managed to demand before he suddenly started walking backwards, "Use your pen to stop it, Fakir!" The young writer's eyes widened in shock as the colors around him suddenly faded into an odd sepia tone and the evening's events started playing out before his eyes in reverse order. "It's," he repeated incredulously, "Flowing backwards?" The young man stared in disbelief and dawning horror as his life rewound itself before his eyes. "No," he protested with a violent shake of his head, "No! I don't want this!" He couldn't go back to being who he had been before the story began! Not after everything he'd come to understand! He would not be the useless knight crippled by his own fears ever again! "I'll never go back," the knight-turned-writer declared as he prepared to write, "Back when I clung to my sword, and never said anything but words that took away Mytho's freedom… I won't return to that time!"

He felt something in the back of his mind dancing just out of reach. Something he'd never felt before and mentally reached out to it instinctively. It danced tantalizingly closer almost as though it registered his interest. "I won't sit on the sidelines," he vowed fiercely, "In fear of my fate while everyone else faces it! We'll protect him! Together!" On the final word his mind latched onto the thing he'd sensed, and in that instant he swore he heard Ahiru's voice echo his final word before the wind suddenly stopped. He was back in the old yard standing before the Drosselmeyer's grave and he looked around in confusion. "Just now," Fakir wondered aloud, "I heard her voice…?" The thing his mind that latched onto twitched. Instantly, images of the duck-girl he loved flashed across his mind's eye and he realized just what he'd tapped into. It was the thread of a story: Ahiru's story. "That's it," he breathed, "She's the one who changed me."

Absently his quill started to dance across the paper as he wrote. "I can write. I can write a story about _her_ ," the young writer murmured in disbelief before his eyes narrowed in confusion, "Wait, but… These aren't my words. What are they? Where are they coming from?" He abruptly realized that her story was basically writing itself using _him_ as a channel. Wherever she was right then, his pen was recording everything happening to her; everything she was seeing and everything she was thinking. 'This is the power of a Spinner,' he wondered in awed confusion, 'But…these… These are…her feelings!' **I want to go back** , her thoughts pleaded as they spun themselves across the page, **I want to go back…and help Mytho! I want to leave this place!** 'Her feelings for Mytho are being transferred into my hands and flowing out,' he realized with a twinge of guilt for how intrusive this was.

They _were_ her private thoughts and emotions after all. He _really_ shouldn't be seeing this…still if it brought her _back_. Fakir knew now what he had to do the free her from Drosselmeyer's clutches and murmured firmly as he wrote the next words, "At that time, the knight who had cast away his sword called out her name to lead her from the darkness!" The young writer snapped his head up from the page and he took a deep breath. This _had_ to work! "Ahiru," he cried out at the top of his lungs. In response, the head stone suddenly started to glow and his eyes widened in amazement as feathers suddenly burst free from the stone. The dark haired young man released both quill and writing board as he took a step forward in anticipation.

Seconds later, a pale pink toe-shoe emerged from the stone as if it were a fluid followed by the rest of the magical ballerina's leg and then the rest of her! "Ahiru," he cried out again as he held out his hand to her desperately. "Fakir," she cried back as she reached out to him as well. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was only a handful of seconds before her delicate hand clasped his. Fakir pulled her into his arms and hugged her slight form tightly to his chest. A faint sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes in relief. She was safe! He had done it! He barely noticed that she was hugging him back just as tightly and had echoed his sigh. All he could focus on was that, for the first time in what felt like forever, he had _succeeded_ at saving someone dear to him. It felt incredible and the fact that it had been Ahiru…made it even better. "Did you write a story about me," she suddenly asked him quietly. "Yeah," he breathed in response. "Thank you," the blue-eyed ballerina whispered gratefully before her knees buckled and she passed out in his arms.

 **A/N:** Well….that was fun. And short. I tried to stretch things out as long as I could, but the events of this episode _do_ only encompass a few hours at most. I didn't have much time to fill. I like how it turned out, though, even if it is pretty short. You probably already guessed this, but the bit I added was the bit about backlash. I started wondering why Fakir reacted the way he did in this episode when he tried to write. The explanation I came up with…was backlash. There are, as mentioned in the chapter, four stages of backlash. Mild backlash (or stage 1) is irritating, but harmless. It manifests as a nosebleed, mild headache, dizziness, mild nausea, or random muscle cramps. Moderate backlash (a.k.a. stage 2) is mostly harmless, but seriously distracting. It manifests as a mild migraine, severe nausea, dull pain throughout the body, or a dry coughing fit. Severe backlash (stage three, of course) is severely debilitating and potentially dangerous. It manifests as agonizing pain that feels as though one is being torn apart from the inside out, severe migraine, and coughing up blood. Finally we hit stage four backlash which only has a single manifestation. It stops the heart from beating. Every other organ continues to function normally…but the heart is effectively paralyzed. Needless to say, this is potentially fatal. I say potentially because it _is_ possible to restart a stalled heart before a person dies. However, it requires for other people to be in the vicinity… for them to reach the Spinner before they succumb…for them to know the first-aid necessary to get a heart beating again…and for them to do _all of this_ before the rest of the organs shut down from oxygen starvation. It is a death sentence for the Spinner who is so reclusive that they lock themselves alone in a room to write. In this chapter, Fakir endured both moderate and severe forms of backlash. I will not be afflicting stage four on him…in this fic. I make no promises for future fics… Why did I come up with such dire consequences for overreaching one's limits? Quite simply, I didn't feel Story Spinning had enough limitations. Spinners _alter reality_ when they write, people! That is not something that should exist without some pretty heavy consequences for when you overreach yourself. My head-canon for this is that backlash is more of a problem for inexperienced Spinners like Fakir than ones of Drosselmeyer's level of expertise. Basically the more experienced you are, the more you can do with your power which translates to fewer limits. Drosselmeyer, when he was alive, would likely have not experienced anything worse than mild backlash in the weeks before he died…whereas Fakir could end up _killing himself_ if he isn't careful. His options are basically to never write again after the current situation is resolved…or to hone his abilities until backlash isn't really a problem anymore. I offer up this concept freely for other writers in this fandom to use if they want to. If anyone wants to use it in their own stories…you have my permission. Have fun! I will be lurking shamelessly in the Princess Tutu section to see what people come up with…because I'm curious. Well, I'll see you all next chapter…which is yet another direct continuation. From here on out they all are… Laters!


	25. The Calm Before the Storm

**A/N:** Three more chapters to go before end of fic… Sadness… Not a lot of Fakir screen-time in this episode which means I get to be creative again! YAY! We'll see how long it turns out to be by the end. By the way…we have _long_ since surpassed my last completed fic in number of pages. My Kingdom Hearts fic was only 249 pages…this one isn't even _finished_ yet and I am already at 279 pages. Yes, I am doing page count and not word count. I use a _lot_ of words when I write. I don't _want_ to know how many are in this entire bloody document. Just like how I kind of don't want to know how many times I've edited this thing before posting it. I am…obsessive…about editing my work. It's never good enough so I am _constantly_ re-reading it and changing the bits that feel awkward to me. I am also constantly re-checking to be sure the story progresses smoothly and that all character development feels natural. With how long it is…it takes me a while to get through the whole thing in one shot. Which I have to just to get a feel of the flow. The version you all get to read is very different from the one that I originally wrote, is the point I am getting at. And because I overwrite all my old saves, the original version is _long_ gone. Why did I tell you all of this? Just felt like letting you know a bit more about my methods. Because I can. Now let's get started with this chapter, shall we? Here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** If I owned Princess Tutu the other main characters would have had more screen time, there would have been…eh…four seasons at least, it would have been darker, the Story Spinning power would have been developed more, the history of the Spinners would have been developed more, Drosselmeyer's backstory would have gotten more than just the blurb in the opening segments and the vague references made by other characters, and Fakir would have kissed Ahiru _at least_ once before the series ended. None of this happened in the actual show. I believe we can all conclude that I do not own it.

Chapter 25: The Calm Before the Storm

"Hey," Fakir exclaimed in shock as the white-clad ballerina fainted. He fell to his knees beside her and gently cradled to her to his chest. Shortly after she slumped against him, Ahiru's body was engulfed in the yellow flash that signified Tutu's form being dispelled. That was about when Autor finally made his way back from wherever the rewinding story had sent him. "What happened," he demanded uncertainly. The young writer ignored the question in favor of anxiously scanning the diminutive ballerina for any sign of injury, but relaxed a bit once he realized she was unharmed. Most likely she was just tired; he could understand that. "What is that girl," the glasses-wearing teen continued, "Why did the story…" "I won't allow the story to go backwards any longer," the dark-haired young man cut off the other teen before glancing up at him. The blue-haired young man stared back uneasily. Clearly the events he had experienced had shaken his confidence somewhat. 'Probably for the best,' the knight-turned-writer decided as he casually grabbed his writing supplies from where they lay on the ground next to him, 'His ego is almost as bad as Rue's was…'

"Fakir, what are you trying to do," Autor inquired cautiously before his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief and he demanded, "You aren't thinking about rewriting the story that's controlling the town, are you?" Fakir sighed under his breath at that as he gathered Ahiru's slumbering form into his arms and stood. "I just want the power to protect people," he replied evenly. He then tensed slightly as he looked down at the red-haired girl in his arms before inquiring, "Autor, can I ask you something?" "What," the glasses-wearing young man wondered. The young writer looked back up at the other teen with an uncertain frown, "Can my power really turn stories into reality? Isn't it just recording what will eventually become reality anyway?" "Those two things are aspects of the same power," the music student informed him, "If your power is immature, naturally it will be swayed by reality. But if your power is strong reality should start obeying your stories. Then it would even be a simple task to manipulate the fates of all mankind!"

The young writer lowered his head at that as his expression darkened. Using his power in _that_ way was the one thing he never wanted to do. Not after having his own fate manipulated ever since he befriended Mytho. Possibly even before that considering the birthmark he bore. Drosselmeyer had clearly always intended for him to die horribly as the knight in his tale; something that gave Fakir even _more_ reason to resent the dead man. Unfortunately, there was a strong chance that – in order to resolve the story in a way that _wasn't_ a tragedy – he would be required to seize control of the fates of everyone involved and guide them to the ending they all wanted. Meaning he wasn't going to have a choice. He didn't like it, but he could live with it…probably.

'Once Drosselmeyer's tale is over and done with,' the former knight decided as he glanced back down at Ahiru's peaceful face, 'I will never seek to use my power in such a way ever again. Regardless of whether or not I continue to write new stories after this all is over, I will _never_ allow myself to become some faceless puppet-master. Fate…is something that should be left up to the individual to define for themselves. Something you choose… It should not be forced upon _anyone_.' "Fakir," Autor asked uncertainly in response to the taller young man's prolonged silence before some of his former smugness returned, "Don't tell me you're _afraid_ of your powers all of a sudden." Fakir glared sharply at the other teen before growling tersely, "No. I'm not." "Then what could _possibly_ be bothering you so much that you would just stop talking all of a sudden," the glasses-wearing young man demanded with a frustrated scowl. "I was thinking," the young writer replied shortly as he started to walk away, "Of what I will do after the story ends." The blue-haired teen blinked in surprise and could only stare after the former knight contemplatively as he left.

The dark-haired young man only paused long enough to grab the old satchel he'd brought with him before resuming his trek. His house was far closer than the Academy dorms, and it would be far less awkward to bring her there than trying to sneak up to her room. Besides, the next day was the Saturday before Easter which meant no classes. There was no reason to bring her to the dorms in that case. So the young writer returned home with a sleeping Ahiru cradled in his arms. Charon was still awake and sitting in the kitchen reading when they got back. He stared in surprise at the sight of his son carrying the girl he loved before half-rising in concern once he noticed she was unconscious. "Fakir," the smith exclaimed, "Is she all right?!" "She's just sleeping," Fakir replied calmly, "Let me get her settled in bed and I'll try to explain as best as I can." The older man slowly sat back down with a nod of agreement, "Very well."

The green-eyed teen carried the slumbering red-head up to his room and laid her on his bed before setting the rest of his things, including her story, on the nearby shelf. He then turned back around and cautiously removed her shoes. That was about all he was comfortable with doing as far as undressing her, though. Just the thought of doing anything more made him blush furiously, so the only other thing he did to make her comfortable was pull the covers up to her chin. He gazed down at her for a few moments before hesitantly reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair off of her forehead. A tender look spread across his face as his fingers brushed her skin; he still had a hard time believing he'd actually saved her. To have actually _succeeded_ at freeing her from Drosselmeyer's imprisonment… He smiled softly before straightening back up and turning to leave the room. It could have turned out a _lot_ worse, and he knew it. Holding her in his arms, _knowing_ she was safe again….these were memories he would _always_ treasure no matter what else happened.

Fakir returned to the kitchen and took a seat across the table from where is father was waiting expectantly. Then he took a deep breath and started to recount the evening's events. Parts were extremely uncomfortable such as the entire incident with the Bookmen, but that had been the catalyst. He needed to go over it. Charon had not been pleased to hear about this most recent attempt on his son's life and muttered something about needing to have a _talk_ with the old shopkeeper. The young writer did his best to assure the smith that, so long as he was careful with his powers, they _should_ leave him alone. The older man wasn't convinced. The teen continued going over everything until he got to the part about where time started flowing backwards.

"What," the sandy haired man gaped in disbelief. "The story started flowing in reverse," the knight-turned-writer repeated with a sigh, "And time along with it. If I hadn't started writing everything would have probably ended up resetting. I'd have gone back to being terrified of my fate and lashing out at everyone around me in a misguided effort to keep them safe. You'd have gone back to being controlled by that heart shard and doubting me. It would have been hell." "So your story prevented that from happening," Charon wondered curiously, "How?" "I felt something in the back of my head when I was getting ready to write," Fakir shrugged, "It was the thread of Ahiru's story and I ended up tapping into it. In the end, her story allowed me to call her back safely…" "You must be proud," the smith smiled at his son, "To have successfully rescued someone so important to you." The young writer hesitated at that before slowly admitting, "Not as much as you might think… I was just recording events as they took shape instead of actively shaping them."

The young man hesitated again before frowning uneasily, "It was enough this time, but I can't change the story's ending just by recording things. Worse, I wasn't entirely sure what I was doing at the time. I got lucky. I can't count on that happening again. It's going to take a lot more time before I fully master my powers as a Spinner. Hopefully I'll have enough time to work things out a bit more before things come to a climax and I am forced to act whether I'm ready or not…" "You've taken a heavy burden upon yourself, haven't you," Charon frowned sympathetically. "No different than it was before really," Fakir smirked wryly, "Truth is I've been holding myself responsible for the lives of everyone in town for years now. I just went about it differently and always thought I would be fighting on the front-lines of the fight to come. Now it seems my place is to support everyone else with my writing. I'll admit, I'm not entirely comfortable with sitting on the sidelines…but if it means I can prevent this story from ending in tragedy and keep everyone else safe…then I can live with it. I've made far greater sacrifices than _that_ over the years."

He wasn't lying about that. He'd forced himself to grow-up far faster than was healthy so that he could care for Mytho. He'd deliberately ensured that his schoolmates feared him so they would stay away from the prince to keep both sides safe and destroyed his reputation in the process. He'd practically abandoned his education in order to learn how to use his abilities. He'd lost countless hours of sleep staying up to watch over his friends. Hell, he'd even put his own life on the line…and nearly died twice. The dark-haired young man was no stranger to sacrifice…and he still didn't regret any of it. By comparison, something as petty as resigning himself to a support role in the coming battle was barely worth noting. Charon sighed sadly before offering a weak smile, "I know. I wish you didn't have to, but I know. Even if you aren't able to be as proud of yourself as you should be…know that I am _very_ proud of the man you have grown to be and always will be." Fakir gasped softly in surprise before slowly returning the smile, "Charon… Thank you… That means a lot."

The smith insisted his son eat something before heading back upstairs, and the young writer reluctantly agreed. He knew he _needed_ to eat but his priorities were so messed up that watching over Ahiru struck him as being far more important. Fakir compromised by eating as fast as he could, much to Charon's amused exasperation, and then returning to his room. He spent the night wide awake as he divided his attention between keeping an eye on the slumbering red-head and reflecting on the story he'd written. The more he thought about it the less it felt like he had done much of anything. It was like the underground lake all over again. All he had really done was give the diminutive ballerina a way to save herself just as he had back then. The only differences were that _this_ time he had been wielding a pen instead of a sword and hadn't brushed up against death itself in order to achieve his goal.

'Though that _could_ have happened,' he admitted to himself grimly as he read through the pages once more, 'If I had pushed my abilities too far and triggered the fatal variant of backlash. I was lucky to get away with only the lesser ones. I really am going to have to work out exactly what my limits are at some point just so I can _avoid_ killing myself from sheer carelessness.' The young writer sighed heavily as he brought up a hand to rub at his forehead in agitation. Really, these powers of his were almost more trouble than they were worth. He glanced over his shoulder as he noticed the light in his room was growing slightly brighter; the sun was rising. Charon would be waking up around now to head in to pick up ingredients for dinner tomorrow. The man probably would be out for most of the day as a result. The young man sighed before returning his attention to the manuscript in his hands.

'The power to protect, huh,' he reflected bitterly as he stared down at the manuscript, 'Did I really write a story that saved her with my own power? Or was I made to write it?' It was a legitimate concern considering he was still technically filling the role of the knight…which meant Drosselmeyer most likely still had some measure of control over his actions. True, he wasn't exactly a _traditional_ knight, but he was still fighting to protect others in a way. It counted. Fakir looked up at where Ahiru was still sleeping peacefully. She'd stirred and mumbled a few times during the night, but had mostly remained in a deep, restful slumber. He wasn't sure if that was normal for her or not as he didn't make a habit of watching her sleep. That would just be creepy. Still, she hadn't had any nightmares and hadn't spent the night absolutely motionless. He was going to assume she was sleeping normally. The young writer sighed and returned his focus to the story in his hands as he reflected on the events of the previous evening.

'Even though I couldn't write a single word of Mytho's story,' he admitted uneasily, 'The story to save her just flew out of me. But the story I _have_ to write is about Mytho.' Mytho was the Prince after all and it was _his_ story that was shaping events in the town. No matter how you looked at it everything was revolving around _him_. A sharp breath escaped him as he abruptly stood and headed out of the room. Regardless of whether it had been his power that had saved Ahiru or not, there was no point in hanging on to the completed story now. It contained far too many of her personal thoughts after all. He would respect her privacy as best as he could…and burn it so that nobody else could read it. True, it didn't change the fact that _he_ knew her thoughts since he'd been the one to record them. He wasn't going to deny that there was a selfish, viciously possessive part of him that liked the idea that _he_ would be the only one to know what had been going through her head last night. Fakir's possessive streak was one of the few things that had not changed over the past few months. If anything it had gotten even worse. _Anyone_ who laid a hand on Mytho or Ahiru in a way he didn't like from now on was just asking to be maimed.

The dark-haired young man hesitated as he passed Uzura on his way to the stairs. "Uzura," he called softly, "When did you get back?" The little puppet looked up at him, but remained silent. She seemed troubled, but didn't stick around long enough for him to question her about what was bothering her. It was concerning to see her worry over something considering how cheerful and innocent she was. 'Could Drosselmeyer have done something to her,' he worried as he watched her walk away before resuming his own path, 'I'll have to ask her later… Damn that man! If he did _anything_ to damage her innocence, dead or not, I'll make him pay!' Charon had already left the house by the time his son reached the kitchen and found the note the man had left on the table. Apparently, the smith was going to grab something for himself while he was out running his errands and Fakir would be on his own for breakfast that morning. Well, that was fine. He was more than capable of making a simple breakfast for himself and Ahiru to share after she woke up.

Before he got started on that, however, there was something he had to take care of. The young man knelt before the stove and opened the firebox. He smirked faintly as he found that his father had been considerate enough to stack several pieces of coal inside before he left. All he'd have to do was light the fire. The young writer grabbed the match box down from the shelf, struck a match before lighting the first few pages of the story he'd wrote and tossed them in on the coal. It didn't take long for the fire to blaze up and he patiently fed more and more pages to the hungry flames. Just as he tossed the last few pages in he heard the diminutive ballerina call his name curiously and looked back over his shoulder at her. "So you're awake," he observed casually before turning back to the flames, "You'll eat, right?"

"Yeah," Ahiru replied as she walked over before gasping softly. "Is that the story you wrote, Fakir," she asked. Fakir stared evenly at the flames as they consumed the pages he'd thrown in and quietly replied, "That story is over now." "The story about me that Fakir wrote for me," the red-haired girl murmured sadly before cheering up as she continued, "I kind of wanted to read it…but I'm glad you're able to write stories now." The young writer didn't turn his gaze from the fire, but continued to stare in silence until the last few withered ashes fell through the coal. Then he stood and looked over at her. "I'm not the best cook," he admitted with a wry smirk, "But I can make us something to eat if you're willing to wait. I promise I won't try to poison you." The blue-eyed girl shuddered and scowled at him, "Don't even joke about that!"

The young man laughed at her reaction which prompted her to shoot a look of mixed confusion and surprise. It occurred to him that he had never really laughed openly around her before, so her startled reaction made sense. It didn't mean he wasn't going to tease her about it, though. "What's that look for, idiot," he quipped lightly as he set about grabbing the implements and ingredients he needed. "I'm not an idiot," Ahiru protested indignantly before mumbling, "I've just never heard you laugh like that before is all…" "Contrary to popular opinion," Fakir replied in mock irritation, "I do, in fact, have a sense of humor and am capable of laughing when I find something funny or amusing." The diminutive ballerina squawked frantically, "I didn't mean… I don't think that… I know you… Eh… Um..." "Calm down," the knight-turned-writer sighed as he glanced back over his shoulder and offered a comforting smile, "I was just teasing you a bit. I know _you_ know me better than that." The red-head flushed in embarrassment and pouted at him causing his smile to widen slightly. She really had _no_ idea how adorable it was when she did that.

Fakir soon prepared a simple breakfast for the both of them and set the table before gesturing for his guest to take a seat. Ahiru eyed to food warily as she recalled his joke about poisoning her, but sat down anyways. She then hesitantly served herself before watching as her older friend did the same. "It won't kill you to try it, you know," he teased her with a faint smile. The red-head scowled at him before hesitantly trying a bite and her eyes widened in surprise. "This is really good," she exclaimed. "I'm glad you think so," the young man replied as he started eating himself, "I can generally manage simple meals easily enough. Just don't ask me to try any fancy, gourmet style cooking." "I can't cook anything at all," the blue-eyed girl admitted shamefully between bites. "Well, you did start your life as a duck," he shrugged before continuing, "I doubt the enchantment that makes you human would miraculously give you cooking skills on top of everything else. Even stories have a point where things become excessively convenient or ridiculous. Personally, I think the anthropomorphic talking animals around town are an ideal example. That man is insane…"

"Who," Ahiru asked curiously. "Drosselmeyer," Fakir replied tersely with a scowl directed off to the side. "Oh," the diminutive ballerina shrunk down in her seat slightly before a troubled look crossed her face, "He talked to me…while I was trapped in his dimension." The young writer stiffened as he stared at her, "What?!" The red-haired girl started to explain, "It was really scary. I was all alone in this space full of these enormous gears at first. Nothing was moving at all and it was so quiet! Then these puppets dropped down from somewhere up above me and started making fun of me. They said I was inside the story and that the gears were all frozen because I stopped it! Then _I_ was frozen for a while like I was a puppet myself! Then Uzura showed up and started asking about puppets before she ran off and fell down through the gears! Then I started dancing without any control over my actions and that was _really_ scary and upsetting!"

The diminutive ballerina took a deep breath before continuing, "Then I was dropped into this chair at a long table and Drosselmeyer was sitting there too! He asked me if I had found all the heart shards yet and I had, so I told him yes!" Fakir reached over the table to pass her the butter, but he did not interrupt as she continued, "And then, when I said that I thought they were hidden in the five gates that lead outside he said 'Congratulations!'" "So that means that those shards must be sealing away the Monster Raven," the young writer mused aloud. Ahiru's eyes brightened as she started buttering her roll, "Now we can finally collect them all, right?" 'It's not that simple,' he sighed internally before pointing out with a grim frown, "But that will restore the Raven." The red-haired girl had just taken a bite before he spoke and gasped in surprise…which promptly caused her to start choking as a piece of roll got stuck in her throat. "Calm down," Fakir stated evenly as he poured her a glass of milk so she could wash it down, "It's a bridge we'd have to cross eventually anyway."

The dark-haired young man then turned to head over to the counter to refill the decanter with more milk before continuing, "If we don't hurry, Mytho may never be able to return to normal." "I guess you're right," Ahiru finally replied, "Besides, even if the Monster Raven is restored it shouldn't be a problem with your power to write stories, right?" The young writer stiffened momentarily at her blindly optimistic words. She believed in him so strongly…how could he disappoint her by telling her the truth… That she was the only one he'd ever successfully written for. That, no matter what he tried, he couldn't write anything related to Mytho _or_ the Raven. His powers were effectively useless at his level of skill and it could take him _years_ to get to the point that they would be worth _anything_. Most of all, he could not tell her that he wasn't even sure if it had been his own power that allowed him to write her story in the first place. So he deflected. "Do your best," Fakir encouraged her quietly as he poured the milk out of the carafe it was kept in. "Okay," Ahiru chirped cheerfully.

A grimace crossed his face as he felt a stab of guilt. He knew he should tell her the truth about his limitations, but he couldn't bear the thought of disappointing her. Not when her faith in his abilities was so strong. Unfortunately, the only one who could tell him how to get around those limitations was Autor…which meant he was most likely going to have to pay the annoyingly condescending teen a visit; yet if that was what it took … Ahiru returned to detailing her most recent encounter with the dead Spinner once her older friend sat back down. "Where was I…? Oh yeah! The gate shards," she exclaimed before continuing, "I tried asking him if restoring those last few shards would return Mytho to normal only… He said that would be boring! But Mytho is suffering and why should it matter if it's boring or not?!"

Ahiru scowled indignantly at that before she continued in a more subdued tone, "Then he went on about how nobody else in the story would have anything to do if Mytho got better! And then he showed me you and Rue and Mytho and you were all _miserable!_ Only he thought this was a _good_ thing! He went on and on like he wanted all of us to suffer and then he got mad at me for thinking more of the prince than of what I wanted… And then after he calmed down he suggested that I not tell anyone about the shards, but there was _no way_ I was going to do that! He's…probably not going to be happy that I told you just now…" Fakir scoffed quietly in derision before muttering, "Too bad for him, then." The red-head beamed back and nodded before a troubled look crossed her face, "Yeah! Only…he made it sound like it would be a good thing. That I would be able to spend more time with Mytho and not have to worry about turning back into a duck permanently. He said that if I thought about things like that…he'd let me go… That was around the time everything started going backwards though, and you probably know how weird that was…"

"Waking flashback with a howling gale and all the colors turning sepia," the young writer shrugged before frowning bitterly at the table, "I refused to go back to the way I was back at the beginning. I've changed since then…" "Me too," Ahiru smiled. "That's when I started writing," the dark-haired teen admitted, "And then…" "You wrote my story and got me out of that place," the diminutive ballerina finished softly. "Yeah," he murmured back as he closed his eyes. They had both finished eating by that point, so Fakir stood and started to clean up without another word. "Ah," the blue-eyed girl gasped as she shot to her feet, "Let me help!" The young writer stared at her blankly for a few moments before nodding and quietly guided her through the routine.

Fakir was more focused on dwelling about what she had told him about her time in Drosselmeyer's dimension though. Her account had effectively answered his questions about _why_ Drosselmeyer was so fond of tragedies. He actually thought it was _fun_ to watch other people suffer and die! Ahiru didn't seem to fully realize just how twisted the dead man was, but Fakir had no such problem. 'This town,' he realized with a grimace, 'Is being controlled by a sadistic psychopath. An _insane_ sadistic psychopath who wants all of us to suffer and die horribly. And I am _related_ to this monster… On top of that, I am going to be seeking assistance from someone who seems to _idolize_ that sick bastard… This is starting to feel like a scenario from one of my nightmares, but I know I'm not dreaming… This is real… Crap…'

With the two teens working together, it didn't take long to clean up and, as soon as the cleaning was done, Ahiru headed for the door. "I'm going to try and work out how to recover the last heart shards, okay," she told her taller friend with a smile. "Be careful," Fakir replied with a concerned frown, "Drosselmeyer still wants both of us to live out the roles he chose for us. He may try to set up a situation where you have no choice but to vanish the way the original Tutu did in the story." "I know," the red-head admitted with a gentle smile, "But I still want to try as hard as I can! For Mytho's sake…" The young writer returned her smile weakly, "Likewise…" 'And for your sake as well,' he admitted as he watched her run out the door before heading back upstairs to get changed.

Ironically, it turned out the only clean clothes he had available was his last spare school uniform. The dark haired young man sighed in exasperation, but wasn't willing to continue wearing the same outfit for two days straight. He sighed again and got changed before heading back downstairs. Before he left the house, though, he grabbed a roll of bandages from the bathroom. He wasn't sure if Ahiru would succeed in her task that day or not, but he'd rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them. Fakir made his way across town to Autor's apartment with a determined scowl plastered across his face. One way or another, he was _going_ to find _some_ way to make his powers work the way he needed them too. Even if he had to resort to threats in order to get his point across. He may not enjoy threatening people, but _damn_ if it wasn't an effective way to get things done!

Autor was not particularly surprised when he opened the door to find a grim faced Fakir waiting outside. "I was wondering when you'd be seeking me out," the glasses-wearing teen smirked as he pushed them up his nose, "After you finally managed to write something useful last night. I imagine you want my help with the next step of honing your abilities?" "Something like that," the dark-haired young man muttered. "Well, you may as well come in," the blue-haired music student sighed melodramatically before stepping back to let the taller teen enter. The young writer was led once more to the replica of Drosselmeyer's study before the other young man left to make them both cups of tea. He'd muttered something about being a good host before walking out which made the former knight scoff quietly.

A 'good host' wouldn't have been so blatantly condescending during his first visit. Also there was the whole nearly getting him killed because he made a mistake that could have been easily avoided if he'd simply _bothered to fact check_ thing. Not that he was being vindictive or anything. Fakir had brought the duck-feather quill along with him and started twirling it idly between his fingers as he waited for Autor to return. Roughly ten minutes later, his wait was over and the other teen re-entered the room with two cups of tea. The green-eyed young man wasn't the least bit surprised when his cup was practically shoved into his hand before the glasses-wearing teen took a seat on the couch. 'Good host my ass,' he quipped internally, 'I think I'm starting to genuinely hate this guy.' "So what in particular did you want to work on," the music student inquired with a smug smirk as he sipped at his tea, "Lord knows the list of things you _still_ don't know is a long one."

"I need to write a story," the young writer replied bluntly as he set his cup down on the desk behind him before turning back to face the other teen, "About a particular person and it can't just be a recording of what is already taking place." "Oh," Autor looked up at him inquisitively though he still kept the smirk plastered to his face, "And why might that be?" "How familiar are you with the story of 'The Prince and The Raven'," Fakir countered evenly. The glasses-wearing teen blinked in surprise before scowling indignantly, "It's _only_ Herr Drosselmeyer's greatest work left tragically unfinished due to his untimely death. It was the first of his _many_ works that I ever read and I've read it countless times since then."

"It's not just a story," the dark-haired young man stated bluntly causing the other's eyes to widen in awe, "It's been affecting this whole town for years now, but was stalled for most of that time. It was only around the start of the year that it started moving again. That was when Princess Tutu first appeared. Ahiru is her alter-ego. Mytho is the Prince from the story and lost his heart years ago. She's been working on restoring it all this time, but…recently he became tainted by the Raven's power. That is the truth behind his uncharacteristic behavior of late. Ahiru and I have been trying to find some way to turn him back to normal for a while now. We thought my abilities as a Spinner might be the best way to go about it only my progress has not been as fast as I would have liked…and now we're out of time. Ahiru found the last heart shards recently and is going to try to retrieve them soon so she can return them to the Prince. When that time comes, the Raven will be freed from his imprisonment and the battle between the two of them will begin once again…with the lives of everyone in Goldkrone at stake."

Autor had gradually started to shake in excitement as the taller teen continued his explanation and, once he finally finished speaking, was staring ahead in wide-eyed amazement. "The prince of 'The Prince and the Raven' has become real," he breathed in awe before continuing eagerly, "I see. And then the Monster Raven became real as well, and is now about to be restored… This town really _is_ being controlled by stories! My hypothesis was correct!" Somehow, Fakir was not surprised that it was the glasses-wearing teen, of all people, who would be the only bystander to notice something was off. He was clearly obsessed enough… "I am the knight cursed with the fate of dying in vain," the knight-turned-writer admitted grimly, "So I can't protect the prince with my sword." "And so you will write stories instead," the other young man inquired. "That's right," the dark-haired young man confirmed.

"Truthfully," the blue-haired teen stated as he lowered his teacup to rest in his lap, "It will be impossible to rewrite Drosselmeyer's story with your power at its current level." A frustrated noise escaped the young writer as the other set his cup aside, stood, and continued, "Since you are at the stage where the story writes itself through you, there is no way you could possibly turn _your_ stories into reality." "I know that," the malachite-eyed young man snapped irately causing the music student to gasp in surprise. "That's why I want you to help me, Autor," the grim teen concluded. An irritated look crossed Autor's face as he complained, "Why should I have to do _that_ for _you_?" "I need your knowledge," Fakir half-pleaded which made the glasses-wearing teen look up at him again. Yet he was still not convinced. "So why should I," he muttered indignantly. "If their battle breaks out and Mytho _loses_ ," the former knight growled, "We all _die_. And not just those of us intimately tied to the story like myself and Ahiru. _Everyone_ in Goldkrone could die _including you_!" _That_ was enough to convince the arrogant music student to cooperate…for the moment. He was still clearly very reluctant.

"Very well," the blue-haired young man huffed with a resigned scowl, "I suppose our best bet is to recreate the conditions under which Drosselmeyer wrote as best as possible. I assume you still have that quill you _stole_." Wordlessly, Fakir flicked the quill out of his pocket with two fingers and held it up. Autor scowled before sighing, "Well, I suppose the next step is ritual purification. I'll go get the water." The dark-haired teen flinched in recollection of that incident and grumbled, "Can't we just skip that part. I'd rather not be completely soaked again." "If you want to be sloppy about it," the glasses-wearing teen snapped, "And risk failure, then yes but I _doubt_ you want to take that risk! Am I wrong?" The two glared at each other before the young writer finally sighed, "Fine. We'll do it your way…but at least grab me a towel so I can dry off this time!"

Autor scowled, but nodded before leaving to fetch the things he needed. The former knight glowered at the replica of Drosselmeyer's desk as he waited. Soon enough, the other teen returned with the necessary items in tow. He laid the towel on the couch before promptly splashing the taller teen full in the face with a pitcher of water. Fakir glared at the music student as he wiped the water from his eyes before grabbing the towel wordlessly being held out to him and drying off. "So I'm 'purified'," he bit out tensely, "Now what?" "Now you sit at the desk and focus on what it is you want to write," Autor retorted, "While I take care of the rest of the preparations. It might take me a while, so you should have _plenty_ of time to think." The dark-haired young man scowled back, but obeyed as he slipped off his uniform jacked and draped it across the back of the chair. It wasn't as though he had any better ideas…

 **A/N:** And that is where I am cutting things off for this chapter which means there will be a short time skip between the end of this one and the start of the next. We really don't need to go over Fakir agonizing over what to write again. Rest assured that it was just as torturous a process as in the last chapter only without the backlash. As much as I enjoy tormenting that boy, I feel like giving him a bit of a break and will leave it up to you all as to just how miserable he makes himself this time. Be sadists…and have fun. Next chapter is the start of the series finale! Sort of… Technically, the start was at the end of this episode, but…for Fakir it starts in the next episode. He…kind of gets neglected in favor of advancing Rue's character arc a bit more before it is finally resolved in the final episode. Which is perfectly fine because one of the things I freaking _love_ about this series is how well-developed all the main characters are! Also, I am watching the episode as I write this and I just got to the part where the Raven is released! LOVE IT! Going to stop writing now so I can enjoy what little remains of the episode! See you all next chapter!


	26. The Sacrifices We Make

**A/N:** God, I love Rue's confession so freaking much and Mytho _finally starting to snap out of damsel-in-distress_ _mode_! He is a male damsel-in-distress for most of the series and you can't freaking deny it. He is there to look pretty and drive everyone else's motivations up until the series finale! That's it! He is freaking boring! Which _really_ drives me up a wall because said finale showed that _he's actually pretty damned cool_ and it frustrates me to no end that we don't get to spend more time with KICKASS Mytho and have to put up with either damsel-in-distress Mytho or cliché villain Mytho! Not. Fair. At all. Why did you make such an interesting character boring writers? Why?! I actually really like all of the main characters for all that I harp on how boring Mytho is. It's actually because I like his character that I am so frustrated by his boring-ness. At least I have the other three who are _not_ boring _at all_ to comfort me. Particularly Fakir and Rue; easily the _best_ character arcs belong to those two in my honest opinion. And yes, in case you are wondering, I did start writing this author's note the second the last episode ended and am currently waiting for the next one to load. Because I kind of like the online translation I am working off of more in some ways than I do the official translation. Parts of it just read better… Well, let's jump right in to the start of our climactic finale and what is probably the _most_ romantic moment shared by Fakir and Ahiru in the entire series. Which only made the way the series actually _ended_ hurt even more. Ow… I mean the ending was sweet and all but still…ow… Eh, here we go!

 **Disclaimer:** If I owned Princess Tutu we would have gotten WAY more of Mytho being amazing! Instead we only get two episodes…and only one of them contains a full episode's worth of him kicking ass. So not fair… Moping now…

Chapter 26: The Sacrifices We Make…

It took Autor several hours to finish the rest of his preparations not that the young writer was aware of the passage of time. He _knew_ he needed to write Mytho's story, but try as he might the words just wouldn't come! 'Why,' Fakir fretted as he stared down at the sheets of paper spread out on the desk before him, 'Why can't I write Mytho's story?!' He'd tried feeling for the thread that would allow him to tap into his best friend's story yet, try as he might, he could not reach it. It was there. He could feel it, but no matter how many times he reached out…it twisted away. 'Ahiru's story didn't give me _nearly_ this much trouble,' he complained to himself before stiffening as a sudden thought occurred to him.

'Could it be…,' Fakir wondered uneasily, 'Because of how strong my feelings for her are? I care for her…no…I love her more than words can say… Mytho is my best friend and the prince I swore an oath to protect at any cost…and yet… Ahiru means more to me than even that. She's… I don't think I could ever love _anyone_ as much as I do her… Could my desire to save Ahiru…to bring her back to my side… have been strong enough to over-ride my own limitations? Could those same limitations be what are hindering me now? No, I _have_ to write! It isn't just Mytho who is counting on me… Ahiru…and Rue…and everyone in town… I want to protect them! All of them! But if I can't write…then I won't be able to protect _anyone_ … Damn it, am I just doomed to be a failure forever?! No!' Fakir grunted in frustration as he tightened his grip on the pen in his right hand before bringing his other hand up to his forehead. He then leaned heavily on it as he pleaded quietly, "Please…I have to write… I don't want to be a useless failure anymore… Please…"

"What are you mumbling about," the glasses-wearing teen demanded as he finally returned to the replica study with a cup of tea in his hand. He'd left to grab what he claimed was the final component to recreating Drosselmeyer's method close to an hour ago. Fakir didn't bother answering and remained focused on trying to grab hold of the elusive thread of Mytho's story. Autor sighed in annoyance before walking over and setting the cup of tea on the desk beside the struggling young writer. "This tea is the blend that Drosselmeyer liked to drink while he was writing," the music student explained, "Darjeeling mixed with Assam." The stressed teen only let out a shaky grunt as he met with yet another failure to tap into the thread he was seeking. The blue-haired young man rolled his eyes before heading over to the bookcase against the far wall and leaning against it with a sulky scowl.

"Why do I have to do this," Autor muttered for what was easily the fiftieth time since he reluctantly agreed to give his aid. Before he could continue his complaint, however, a raucous cawing sound reached his ears and he glanced over towards the front door in confusion. "It sure is noisy," he observed as he headed over to check. Fakir didn't really fully register any of it, though. It was taking every last scrap of concentration he had to keep track of the elusive thread he was after. Again and again he reached out with his mind to grasp hold of it and every time it danced away just barely out of his reach. It was infuriating! His focus slipped once more, however, as he heard Autor start to cry out. "This is terrible, Fa-,"the other teen started before suddenly cutting off. "Autor," the young writer growled tersely as he started to look up and turn to glare at the music student, "I'm begging you, please be quie…" He cut himself off as he scooted backwards in shock with a sharp gasp at the bizarre sight that met his eyes.

Autor was frozen in mid-air half-way through the act of tripping as he ran back through the door to the room. Yet that was not what he was focused on. No, what drew the dark-haired young man's attention was the bulky grandfather clock that had appeared just next to the doorway and stood wide open…to reveal a flamboyantly dressed old man with a crazed grin stretched across his face. "Well, well. This person sitting and writing a story," the old man mused aloud, "Could that be me? No, if it was me, he wouldn't be so uncertain about writing." He then laughed and took a step out of the massive clock. Fakir remembered that voice! He'd heard it last night at Drosselmeyer's grave when Ahiru had been abducted! There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. This was him… The man controlling the story from beyond the grave… The man responsible for everyone's suffering… The man who wanted them all to die because he thought it was _amusing_ …

"Drosselmeyer," the young writer murmured in disbelief. How could he even _be_ here?! He was long dead! Then again, Ahiru had mentioned that he had appeared before her before and that time froze every time this happened. Clearly, that was what was happening now, but why?! Why would the long dead Spinner appear now of all times? "Hmm," Drosselmeyer hummed thoughtfully as he looked around the room before suddenly vanishing and reappearing again next to the replica of his old desk, "These look a lot like the things I used, but they're mostly fakes, huh?" Fakir twisted around in his seat to keep an eye on the crazy Spinner. He refused to let his guard down considering what he already knew about the sadistic old man. The old ghost suddenly turned around and pointed at his great-great-great grandson accusingly, "You're trying to be responsible about writing, aren't you?"

Fakir's eyes widened in surprise as a soft gasp escaped him from the sudden accusation. Of course, he was trying to be responsible! Being _irresponsible_ with a power like Story Spinning was just asking for something terrible to happen! Then again, the dead Spinner seemed to like it when terrible things happened…to other people. "That's why you can't write," the old man continued gleefully, "Stories come when you write freely and irresponsibly, just following your own feelings!" "I don't want to be like you," the young writer growled with a sharp glare, "Playing around with people's fates just for kicks!" "Good grief," the sadistic ghost shrugged with a mock disappointed look, "That won't get us anywhere." A large gear suddenly dropped down in front of the teen from out of nowhere and started to spin as an image materialized within.

"Mytho," the knight-turned-writer gasped in shocked horror. It was his best friend trapped with a black, egg-shaped barrier of some kind! Just what was going on?! "The Monster Raven has been revived," The old Spinner explained smugly, "All of the prince's heart has been returned to him save for but the shard in Princess Tutu's pendant." "What," Fakir breathed incredulously. Ahiru's pendant…was the final heart shard?! "And Princess Tutu is suffering right now because she can't return the pendant," Drosselmeyer continued gleefully as the image in the gear shifted to show Mytho's calm expression as he waited patiently for the aid he believed would come. The dead man then snapped his gloved fingers and, to the young man's rising horror, the hand which had been grasping the duck-feather quill all this time suddenly moved over the paper on the desk all on its own. "What," the dark-haired teen gasped in disbelief, "My hand just…"

The old Spinner laughed again as his descendant's hand started to write free of the young man's control and a new scene bled into being in front of them, "My blood is running through you, after all." Fakir grunted as he struggled to regain control of his renegade limb, but to no avail. "This is the Lake of Despair," Drosselmeyer narrated proudly with a deranged smile, "It was as dark and deep as that in Ahiru's eyes." The young writer's eyes widened in fear at the mention of Ahiru's name; he turned to stare at the dead man and demanded, "What are you planning to make me write?!" "The sad and beautiful tale of little Ahiru," the sadistic old man grinned chillingly as he met his great-great-great grandson's horrified gaze. Praying desperately that he heard wrong, the dark-haired teen asked hoarsely, "What did you say?"

However, the elderly man did not respond and instead returned to narrating the scene unfolding before their eyes…the scene he was forcing the young man to write. "At that moment, Ahiru could hear a voice," the old ghost related with a satisfied grin, "It was the voice of Drosselmeyer, the man who controlled the story!" Fakir whipped his head back around and tensed as he saw the girl he loved walking towards the edge of the lake in a daze. "Ahiru," he exclaimed breathlessly. Just what was that man planning to make him _do_ to her?! "The reason that you can't return the final heart shard," Drosselmeyer continued cruelly, "Is because you're scared of no longer being Princess Tutu." "That's not true," Ahiru protested and the young writer's eyes widened as her voice sounded out clearly in his ears. He could see and hear everything as though he were really present even though he _knew_ he was still in Autor's apartment. Story Spinning was capable of even this level of immersion?!

"Are you scared of being separated from the prince," Drosselmeyer asked mockingly as his smile darkened. "I…," Ahiru protested weakly. "By sacrificing herself to the Raven, Rue will be carved into the prince's heart for all eternity," the dead man pointed out causing his descendant's eyes to widen. Rue had done _what?!_ "Ahiru, by continuing to carry that heart shard," the old Spinner continued, "You will live on in the prince's heart not as an ugly little duck, but as Princess Tutu." Fakir desperately clutched at his right arm as he tried to pull it away from the paper and break his twisted ancestor's hold on them both. However, no matter how much he struggled, his hand would not budge. It would not stop writing those terrible words. 'It's not true,' he cried out internally, 'Don't listen to him, Ahiru!' "I…Is it my fault," the diminutive ballerina asked tearfully. "That's right," the sadistic ghost nodded with a cruel smile and a darkness spread across the misty lake she stood beside, "And in order to get the pendant off, you have no choice but to sacrifice your life! Ahiru began to sink into the Lake of Despair, walking further and further in…"

"Stop it," the young writer cried out desperately, "Don't do it, Ahiru!" He couldn't let this happen! He couldn't let Drosselmeyer use him to kill Ahiru! However, his words couldn't reach her. The old Spinner's control was blocking his voice even though it was _his_ power that was being used. There had to be something he could do! _He refused to let her die!_ "Bravo," the dead man cheered softly as the despondent red-head started to walk into the lake, "Bravo!" "Stop it," Fakir pleaded once more, yet to no effect. Words alone were not enough…they never had been… "Damn it," swore tightly before he desperately looked around for something, _anything,_ he could use to break the old man's control! His gaze settled upon a paper knife lying nearby and the former knight didn't even hesitate before reaching out with his free hand to grab it. 'If this is what it takes to save you,' he snarled internally as he raised the knife over his hand, 'Then _so be it!_ '

Fakir stabbed downwards with all of his strength and drove the knife clear through his dominant hand pinning it to the desk. He gritted his teeth as he choked back a cry of pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't notice the shocked look Drosselmeyer turned on him before abruptly vanishing as his control over the teen was broken. He didn't notice the scene suddenly fading away leaving only the wall of the study as reality reasserted itself. For the next few moments, all he knew was the agony radiating from his impaled hand. Yet his desperate gamble had paid off partially. He was fully in control of his body once more and the thread the old Spinner was trying to create had cut off short. He could still save Ahiru…if he acted in time.

"Ahiru," the young writer cried out desperately as his eyes finally snapped back open only to find that everything had gone back to normal. He panted harshly from the agonizing pain radiating through his hand before glancing over slightly at the sound of a soft thump. Time had also restarted and Autor had completed his fall to the ground. He was also trying to finish his interrupted alarm, "-kir, the whole town has turned into ravens." Fakir didn't pay attention as he yanked the paper knife free with yet another pained grimace and threw it off to the side. He had something far more concerning on his mind as he clutched at his bleeding hand and straightened as he stared towards the door. "Ahiru," he breathed anxiously. He had to find her! He had no way of knowing if he'd acted in time to save her from drowning or if he'd been too late. The uncertainty was killing him! He had to know if she was safe!

"Ahiru," he repeated shakily as he staggered towards the door yet he was stopped by Autor's firm grip on his shoulders before he could go too far. "Don't go out," the glasses-wearing teen snapped, "It's dangerous!" "What," Fakir breathed as he stumbled backwards slightly from the shock of the sudden stop. The other young man's eyes narrowed in concern as he suddenly noticed the blood streaming down the taller teen's fingers. "More importantly, what happened to your hand," he inquired uneasily before glancing over at the desk and narrowing his eyes in confusion at the bloodstained papers scattered across it before continuing bemusedly, "And when did you write that story? What happened?" "It was Drosselmeyer," the young writer admitted haltingly. "What," the blue-haired young man demanded in disbelief. "That bastard made me write it," the dark-haired young man continued hoarsely. "Could it be," the music student exclaimed in disbelief, "Drosselmeyer was here?!" "Yeah," the former knight confirmed quietly.

Fakir was not going to be getting over the horror of having the control of part of his own body stolen from him any time soon that was for sure. Autor's eyes widened in awe and excitement as he breathed blissfully, "That's wonderful!" Of course, the other teen was completely unaware of the trauma his guest had just endured which made his natural reaction to that revelation about the worst thing he could have done. The young writer's temper snapped. He roughly grabbed the blue-haired student's uniform collar and yanked him forward with a furious glare as he clenched his injured hand. How the _hell_ could that idiot be so blind as to admire that monster?! Didn't he have any idea what he'd tried to make the former knight _do?!_ He could have _killed_ Ahiru! That thought made him freeze before following through with his original intent to slug the other teen. He'd almost forgotten in his sudden fury that she could still be in danger!

"Wh-what is it," Autor stammered with a nervous grin. The young writer abruptly stepped back as he decided there was no point in wasting his time _correcting_ the other teen's misguided admiration. Ahiru was more important than anything else right now. "Nothing," he growled as he shoved the blue-haired young man to the side and resumed his original path for the front door. As he relaxed his injured hand, it reminded him that clenching an appendage with a _bleeding hole_ running clean through the middle was not the brightest idea with a particularly intense pulse of agony. The young writer grimaced in response, but didn't falter. The pain would be worth it if he had managed to act in time to save the girl he loved. He had to know! "Hey," the glasses-wearing teen demanded, "Where are you going?" The knight-turned-writer ignored the other teen as he finally reached the front door and reached out with his good hand to open it. "Hey, wait," the music student called as he ran up behind the taller young man. Fakir's eyes widened as the door swung open at the sight waiting beyond.

Everyone in town…had turned into humanoid ravens. They were still wearing their normal clothes and going about their business…but they were all covered in feathers and had wings and raven heads. "What is this," he wondered incredulously. "It's like what was written in 'The Prince and the Raven'," Autor stated grimly from where he stood next to the stunned young man, "An entire town full of ravens." The former knight looked up at the darkened sky as he recalled Drosselmeyer's words about the Raven's resurrection. "The Monster Raven's curse," Fakir muttered quietly. Part of him was relieved that they were still alive, and that the Raven hadn't simply ordered his minions to gorge themselves. Yet the fact that it _hadn't_ done that was somehow even more worrying. It must be planning to use them somehow, and he just _knew_ it wouldn't be for anything good. "Damn it," the dark-haired young man swore before running off. The sooner he found Ahiru the sooner they could find some way to _fix this_! "Hey," the glasses-wearing teen cried out after him, but was fully ignored.

The dark-haired young man's hand was still bleeding, but he couldn't stop to treat it. Instead, he pulled out the roll of bandages from his pocket, unrolled part of it, tore it free, and started roughly tying it around his wound as he continued to run. 'The Lake of Despair,' he wondered as he pulled the bandage tight with his teeth, 'Where is that?!' He honestly had no idea where to even start looking as there were only a few ponds scattered about the parks around town. He didn't stop running, though. He'd just have to check _all_ of them! He had no idea that he was about to start looking in entirely the wrong places, so it was fortunate that he would soon encounter a willing guide.

Uzura suddenly stepped out from behind the corner of a building and ran forward a few steps before crying out his name, "Fakir!" "Uzura," He replied in surprise as he slowed to a stop before the child-like puppet. Fakir didn't want to run her over, and he _had_ been worrying about her odd behavior. However, she cut him off before he could even start asking her where she'd been all day. "Ahiru disappeared-zura," she stated with a worried look. The young writer's eyes widened slightly as he inquired, "Were you with her?" The little puppet nodded and he swore he had never been more grateful for her tendency to follow the red-head _everywhere_. "Where is she," he demanded. "This way-zura," the little girl answered as she turned to run, and the anxious young man promptly ran after her. The raven-shaped townsfolk ignored the odd duo as they ran through the town, even after the green-haired puppet started beating on her drum.

Soon they came to the edge of town where one of the gates had once stood. It had crumbled into rubble with the breaking of the seal holding the Raven prisoner. Fakir was puzzled as to why she'd let him here and started to speed up with the intent to ask her where she was even going. However, Uzura did not stop but ran right up to the rubble pile with a chipper, "This way-zura!" "What," he wondered in surprise as he started to slow down, "Outside the gates?" The young man walked up to the crumbled pile of rock even as the little puppet continued onwards. "I never even considered going outside of town," he admitted quietly with a puzzled frown. For that matter, he had never considered leaving Goldkrone for any reason at any point in his life. He knew there had to be more to the world outside of the town's walls yet he had never been curious about any of it. Now that he thought about it that was unusual. He was curious about all sorts of things he read about in books and he had _definitely_ read about the rest of the world in the past. Why was he never curious about that? Suddenly, it clicked. He knew why.

"That's right," Fakir realized, "That's because I'm being controlled by Drosselmeyer's story." Since the story was only controlling the events within the walls of Goldkrone, it made sense that those controlled by it would be confined within the area of its effect. It did so by stifling any interest in the world beyond the gates. People could enter…but they could never leave once they became ensnared. The young writer's eyes narrowed grimly as he gazed through the gap in the walls to what lay beyond. "It looks like the story's started to spread beyond the city walls," he murmured uneasily. That was…troubling. Uzura ran back, having noticed her surrogate older brother had stopped following and clambered back onto the rubble pile. She pouted at her brother figure and demanded, "What are you doing-zura?" "Ah," the young man blinked as he snapped out of his thoughts, "Sorry!" He then made his own way across the rubble pile as the little puppet jumped back down, "Hurry-zura!"

Uzura started leading him down a forested path that ran along the walls. The forest felt vaguely familiar as he ran through it. 'I've dreamed of this place,' the young man realized, 'These are the woods from those dreams I kept having with Mytho, Ahiru…and myself in a mist shrouded forest. The woods from those dreams that lead to my dream-self dancing with Ahiru before we started doing…other things.' He blushed faintly as he reflected on the most recent of those dreams. They'd escalated to kissing and it was not making his resolution to keep his feelings for the red-head a secret any easier because _now_ he was curious about what kissing her would actually feel like. The young writer abruptly snapped out of his contemplations when the trees finally opened up to reveal a large lake that he recognized from Drosselmeyer's story. It looked far less sinister in real life, but he _knew_ it was the same lake! Uzura's word's confirmed it as she stated, "This is it-zura." The dark-haired young man didn't hesitate to run forward into the water at that. "Ahiru," he whispered uneasily as the water splashed around his legs. Soon he was up to his waist in the chilly spring waters of the lake and he promptly dove under the surface to search for the red-haired girl.

Fakir was expecting to hit the bottom of the lake soon considering the water had only come up to his waist, yet that was not the case. It dropped out from under him into a dark abyss of gloomy water which had prompted an involuntary gasp of surprise. He'd started to wince thinking that he was about to start choking before his eyes widened in amazement. The water was acting like air! "What is with this lake," he murmured as he continued swimming downwards, "I can breathe! Is this a stage that Drosselmeyer set for us?" If that was the case he wasn't going to complain all that much. If he could breathe that meant Ahiru could as well. If she was somewhere down here it would be impossible for her to physically drown. Dying of a broken heart on the other hand… The young writer grunted in agitation as he swam faster. There was _no way_ he was going to let that happen!

Deeper and deeper he swam into the dimming depths of the lake before finally he caught sight of a small figure curled up on what seemed to be the bottom of the lake. "Ahiru," he gasped as he sped up once more. As he drew closer he called out her name hoping to catch her attention, "Ahiru!" She didn't stir and he felt a thrill of fear that he might have come too late. "Ahiru," he cried out once more and this time was rewarded by a hint of movement. She was still alive! As he drew near to the surface she was resting on Fakir gracefully flipped around and allowed himself to sink the rest of the way. "Fakir," she called out in amazement as she watched him descend before her pendant lit up brilliantly. Her face crumpled in despair shortly after he touched town as she reached back up to fight with the chain. "Ahiru," the young writer murmured in concern.

"Fakir," Ahiru cried desperately as she continued to struggle with the chain, "My pendant won't come off! It's the last of Mytho's heart shards…and Mytho asked me to return it to him, but…" Fakir gazed down at her sadly as he saw how upset she was, but didn't interrupt. "Mytho said he wanted to make Rue-chan his princess," the despairing red-head continued as her taller friend cringed internally at her words knowing just how heart-breaking they must have been for her to hear, "and I know he wants to save her from the Monster Raven, but it won't come off!" The young writer felt an ache start to bloom in his chest at the naked desperation on her face as she finally looked up at him and started to sob brokenly, "It's my fault… Because I would rather not have the story end… Pique and Lilie and Mr. Katze and everyone turned into ravens… And still…!"

The young man felt torn for a few moments. On the one hand, he wanted to tell her how wrong she was to blame herself and give her the reassurance she needed. Yet on the other, he knew that this was also likely to be his last and only chance to tell her the truth about how he felt. 'Yet…if I tell her how I feel…she'll never find the strength she needs to do what she must,' he realized sadly, 'She already blames herself… Telling her…would only cause her pain… So I won't do it. I wish I could tell you how much I love you, Ahiru, but that's not what you need…' Fakir took a deep breath before kneeling down in front of her and reaching out to grasp her shoulders as he murmured gently, "Moron! It's not just you." The distraught ballerina looked up at him in surprise before the young writer continued as he gazed deeply into her eyes, "It's not just you. I don't… No, everyone would rather not see the story end. Everyone besides Mytho… I still can't write Mytho's story, either."

Fakir slid his hand down her arm before grasping her wrist gently and pulling her up to her feet. He would give her the support she needed, tell her the truth she was missing, and be the friend she deserved…even though it meant he was giving up his _one chance_ at possibly winning her heart. He wanted to be so much more…but he was so very used to sacrificing his wants and needs for the sake of others… "Don't blame only yourself," the former knight told her firmly. "But," Ahiru started to protest before he cut her off. "Everyone's scared," he murmured as he pulled her into a gentle embrace, "Of returning to their true selves… They've become accustomed to their roles in the story." He then pulled her into the starting moves of a pas de deux. He'd danced with her so many times in his dreams, yet their one dance in real life…had been so tense. He wanted to have at least one dance with her in reality that was not marred by distrust, frustration, or anything. One dance that he could hold in his memory and cherish for the rest of his days. One dance so he could let her go without regret. Just one more dance was all he wanted…and he would ask for nothing else.

"The real you is a duck," he told her gently before quietly admitting, "The real me… In the end, the real me has done nothing other than to _be_ protected by others ever since I was a kid." The diminutive ballerina looked up at him in surprise as he bitterly confessed, "I can't protect _anyone_." She let out a quiet gasp as he suddenly led her through the next several moves before lifting her into a spin as he gazed deeply into her eyes once more. "But even if that is what I'm really like," he continued honestly, "I want to make the story end! I want to protect you and Mytho because of my own feelings, not because it's a role that was given to me! Even if I have to use up all my power!" Ahiru gasped slightly before a sorrowful look crossed her face, "I'll turn back into a regular old duck then, won't I? I won't be able to study ballet with everyone ever again…" Fakir guided her into the next move as he asked softly, "Isn't that all right? That's the real you." Ahiru made a soft uncertain noise and the knight-turned-writer took his chance.

"Even after that time comes," he vowed gently, "I'll always stay by your side." This would be the closest he would allow himself to come to confessing how he truly felt out loud, but he meant every word. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. "Fakir," the red-head replied tearfully. Perhaps she divined the intent behind his words if not their meaning. He didn't know, and it didn't really matter. 'My heart shall always belong to you,' Fakir confessed internally as they continued to dance, 'I know now I will never see anyone the way I see you. You are my light, my life, my love, and my hope. Everything that makes my life worth living. I will _always_ love you and _only_ you, my Ahiru… Forever…' The young man gazed tenderly at the girl he loved as they reached the end of their pas de deux. He truly loved her with all his heart and always would. Even when she returned permanently to being a duck his feelings would not change…for she would _always_ be Ahiru to him.

"Let's go back to being our true selves," the young writer murmured as he lowered her to the ground in the final move. Their faces were so close that it was taking every last scrap of self-control he could muster to keep from kissing her. "Okay," she replied quietly with a faint nod. "Let's do it, not just for Mytho's sake," he continued as he gazed into her eyes, "but for our own sake as well. Let's end this story." "Okay," she repeated with a hint of enthusiasm. Her pendant flashed once more before falling as the chain finally released. The diminutive ballerina gasped in surprise as she cupped her hands to catch the falling heart shard before murmuring, "It came off!" She then looked up at her older friend in amazement, "Hey, it came off, Fakir!" Fakir smiled back tenderly, "Let's give it back to Mytho." "Right," the red head agreed enthusiastically as she practically leapt up to her feet.

However, before either of them could make a move to return to the surface, the ground beneath them began to shake and tilt alarmingly. Fakir lunged forward to wrap his arm around the diminutive ballerina as she stumbled and screamed. Then the ground tilted further and a startled cry escaped him as they started to fall. Drosselmeyer's laugh started to echo around them as they fell and he mocked them, "The despair still stretches deeper than that!" The young writer looker around in surprise as he realized the water was filled with over-sized gears. They hadn't been on the lake bottom at all, but one of those massive gears! As they sank through the gloomy water, they noticed another gear below them that started to show an image. It was Rue dancing sorrowfully across a dark plain! "Rue-chan," Ahiru cried out desperately, but the raven-haired ballerina couldn't hear. The young writer recognized this trick. The gear was a one way window into events happening elsewhere. Most likely a last ditch effort to prevent them from interfering with the old Spinner's intended ending. The red-head started to squirm as she watched her friend continue dancing and cried out once more, "Rue-chan, I'll come help you now!"

"Wait," Fakir told her as he started to look around for something to stop their descent. "Huh, Ahiru murmured curiously as he glanced back up at him as he reached out with his free hand to grab onto a massive gear. Once they stopped sinking, he looked down at her and continued, "Let's go back." "But," the blue-eyed started to protest before cutting herself off upon noticing the calm look on his face. "I'm sure that Mytho will save Rue," the young writer assured her with a soft smile, "So let's hurry and go save Mytho!" Ahiru looked back down at where Rue was dancing again before agreeing, "Right!" Of course, the tricky part was getting back in the first place. The gears had drifted together above them to form a maze. However, aid would soon come to guide them out.

A familiar sound reached their ears: drumming. 'Uzura,' Fakir realized gratefully. "Uzura is showing us the way back," he informed the girl in his arms before pulling himself up and starting to swim back for the surface. Every time he started to swim the wrong way, the sound of drums would fade and indicated when he needed to correct his path. Ahiru clung lightly to him as they made their way upwards and – he noticed when he glanced down – had a thoughtful look on her face. It took less time than he expected for them to finally reach the lake's surface and – when their heads broke through – the young writer was somewhat surprised to find they had emerged close to shore. They were only a few steps away from dry land. "Oooh," Uzura cooed curiously as the young writer helped the girl he loved onto the shore, "Are you okay-zura?" "Thank you, Uzura-chan," the red-head smiled at the little puppet. "Thank you," the knight-turned-writer echoed softly.

"Ahiru," Uzura looked up at her favorite person aside from her big brother figure, "Did you take your pendant off-zura?" The diminutive ballerina lowered her gaze as she stammered, "Y-yeah." A hint of unease colored her tone, yet it was short lived. Only resolve shone in her eyes as she turned her gaze eagerly upon her older friend. "We have to hurry and return it to Mytho," she exclaimed before asking him seriously, "Fakir, will you write about me one more time?" Fakir's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden request, "What?" "We'll combine our 'we want to protect Mytho' powers," she explained eagerly. "Combine our power," he repeated hesitantly. "Yeah," Ahiru nodded firmly.

There was a certain logic to it he supposed. The only time he'd ever successfully written something was when it had been about her… Yet he wasn't sure how much use he'd be. "All right," Fakir agreed with only the faintest hint of doubt coloring his words, "We can try that…" The blue-eyed girl beamed back at him happily, "Thank you!" The trio headed back into town in silence. They'd had a brief conversation over where the young writer would set up before agreeing that the music student's apartment was their best bet. He was the only person in town they knew for sure had not been turned into a raven. There was a chance that Drosselmeyer might try something to stop the dark-haired teen from writing and having someone they could trust as a look out seemed like a good idea. Admittedly, the blue-haired young man was not his first choice, but he was all they had.

Fakir was quietly enjoying every last moment he spent in her presence because he _knew_ this was the last chance he would ever have to spend time with her as a human. At least he wouldn't be losing her entirely, though. He could live with her being a duck, but that didn't mean there weren't things about her human self that he would miss. The sound of her voice, seeing her face light up when she laughed, her adorable freckles, her soft red hair – he really enjoyed ruffling it a little too much – under his fingers, the warmth her small hand in his, and her flustered reactions when he teased her… He'd miss all of these things. 'I once read a poem,' he mused thoughtfully as he helped her over the rubble pile at the town gates, 'Which had a line about how binding oneself to a joy destroys it, yet he who lets it remain free shall never lose that joy. Ahiru…I've never been happier than when I've been around her these past few months. Letting her do this…as much as it may hurt… It's what's best for all of us. For do try to keep her from it would be to destroy not only everyone's future, but Ahiru herself. I could never… So as much as I may miss her human self… I made the right choice. And perhaps…I'll find my happiness in her contentment… I can hope…'

The walk back to Autor's was over far sooner than he liked, but in that time he'd already started to grow a new set of doubts about their current course of action. His control over his Story Spinning powers still wasn't the best. What if he made a mistake and Ahiru ended up hurt…or worse _killed_?! "Is it really okay for me to write a story about you," he asked uncertainly. "Yeah," she assured him with a comforting smile. She really _did_ believe in him… He still could not help feeling surprised by her faith in his ability when he felt so little for himself. "I'll be going then," the red-head chirped cheerfully. "Okay," the young writer replied quietly. He _really_ didn't want her to go, but he also wasn't going to stop her. This was something that she needed to do for everyone's sakes; including her own. The diminutive ballerina then bent over to say her farewells to little puppet, "Uzura-chan, goodbye." Uzura didn't respond, but only looked up despondently.

"Well," Ahiru started to say as she turned to leave, but was stopped short when Uzura's hand suddenly shot out and latched onto her skirt. "Huh," the red-head wondered as she looked back, "Uzura-chan!" Fakir sighed quietly as he realized that the little puppet was fond of the idea of letting Ahiru return to being a duck for the rest of her life as he was. However, she was still very much a child. Her natural inclination was to be selfish about what _she_ wanted and not think about what was at stake. 'Yet giving up the final heart shard is still something Ahiru _must_ do,' the dark-haired young man thought as he reached out and placed a comforting hand on her head, 'No matter how much we may want her to stay as she is. Yet regardless of her shape…Ahiru is still Ahiru. So it's okay, Uzura. You can let her go.' Reluctantly, the little girl released her grip and the blue-eyed ballerina started to run down the street; somehow, she'd understood what her older brother figure wished to convey through his comforting gesture.

"Princess Tutu, huh," Autor mused as he watched her leave. The child-like puppet didn't stay put, though, and ran after her human friend a short ways before loudly banging on her drum. The sudden noise made the barely visible girl stop and look back. "Ahiru," Uzura called, "Do your best-zura!" Fakir could just make out Ahiru waving back before she turned and resumed her trek. He stared after her a few moments longer before turning to head inside, yet he hesitated and looked back once more. She was long vanished in the mist enveloping the dark streets, but that didn't matter. "I'll do my best not to let you down," he murmured quietly, "Ahiru…" Then he turned and headed straight for the desk he'd used in the replica study. He then took a deep breath as he picked up his quill once more…and started to write as he tapped once more into her story. It was waiting for him, patiently, and reached out to draw him in just as eagerly as it had the night before.

Fakir repeated the words he was writing in his head, 'Princess Tutu ran to return the final heart shard to the prince. It wasn't solely for the prince, but for everyone. When she thought about it that way, there were no longer had any doubts. One last time, she donned her pendant and called forth its power to give her strength. The pendant responded with a will and assumed its true form as it changed her into the elegant ballerina princess once again. The bell marking the arrival of dawn had not yet rung. The prince waited in silence for Tutu to return. Calling upon the power the pendant gave her; Princess Tutu summoned a platform of flowering vines to carry her up to the top of the pillar the prince was imprisoned upon. Once she was standing across from him she spoke, "I'm sorry to have made you wait, Prince." The prince shook his head and smiled kindly as he replied, "I had faith that you would come for me without fail. The feelings that you returned to me, the feelings of love, affection, sadness, loneliness, all of my feelings told me that you would not fail to return."'

The young writer had to stifle a gasp as he started to actually _see_ what he was describing in his mind playing back in his mind's eye. Yet he did not stop his internal narration, 'Moved by the prince's faith in her, Princess Tutu reached out and laid her hand on the barrier keeping the prince confined. At her touch, the barrier dissolved as though it had never been and the prince took the hand of the maiden who had aided him for so long. She led him onto her platform of vines and knew the time had come to return the final heart shard. It was the pendant that granted her power…and allowed her to remain human. Gazing into the prince's eyes, Tutu silently removed her pendant. The final heart shard resembled a pair of extended wings. Wings for the people who had lived comfortably inside the story to leave the nest with.' Fakir repeated the next words out loud and could distantly hear Ahiru's voice echoing them, "Wings for the prince return to his true self with."

The young writer then resumed his internal narration, 'The shard returned to where it belonged as easily as all the others had as the platform of vines slowly lowered them both back to the ground. The prince smiled in gratitude at the maiden who had fought for so long to give him his heart back, yet he knew not the price she paid to do so. Princess Tutu smiled at him one last time as her body started to glow brightly and cheerfully bid him farewell before she was enveloped in a flash of light.' Fakir paused and smiled sadly to himself for a moment before continuing to spin the thread of Ahiru's tale, 'When it faded she had returned to her true form. A little, yellow duck with a heart so infinitely compassionate and forgiving that she gave up even the humanity she had come to cherish so that others might find happiness. The prince was stunned to behold the maiden's true form and humbled by the revelation.'

Fakir was mildly amused as he felt an echo of what his best friend was feeling, but did not stop writing. 'This weak little creature had been the one to return his heart to him and support him alongside his faithful knight? "You're," he murmured in amazement. The little duck quacked at him sadly and his eyes softened. "Such a small and fragile existence," he breathed before executing a formal bow. He could never truly repay her for what she had done for him, but he could at least show her the depths of his gratitude and respect. "Thank you, Princess Tutu," he thanked her formally and the duck was awed that the prince she had admired for so long was now returning that admiration,' he narrated silently with a faint smile, 'The prince then stood and raised his arms as – in flash of power – he assumed his true form as the prince from the story. "This is," the duck thought in amazement, "The real prince!"'

The young writer tensed slightly as he felt a new thread weave its way into his narrative and narrowed his eyes slightly as his mind's eye revealed the form of the creature whose return he'd dreaded for years. The tone of his internal narration turned grimly defiant, 'The Monster Raven laughed maliciously to see his enemy restored. "You've finally been restored, Prince," it asked mockingly as the dawn bell started to chime. The prince only responded by raising his hand high into the air and calling his sword back to him. The two swans it had formed when it shattered flew down from above and, in yet another flash of power, reformed his holy blade! The prince then pointed his sword challengingly at his foe. He would now allow the Raven to win! He would rescue his princess and destroy the Monster Raven once and for all!'

 **A/N:** One chapter left! One chapter left! One chapter left! Sweet mother of God, I have one chapter left! And Mytho is _finally doing things!_ Writing the interactions between Fakir and Ahiru at the bottom of the lake of despair…kind of hurt me a bit. I mean I love how it turned out, but it was really painful for me to write knowing how their story ends in canon. Poor Fakir! Poor Ahiru! They really do sacrifice _so much_ to save everyone! Ow… My heart hurts… And it's going to hurt even more after the next chapter. Also, the poem Fakir referenced really does exist. I've read it. Thing is I don't remember who freaking wrote the blasted thing! I am really bad with names… Once I find it again I'll credit the author in a future edit. Just know that it is NOT MINE and that it is definitely a real poem. No point in delaying the inevitable any further, I guess… I'll see you all next chapter! **Present day edit: FOUND THE POEM! It is Eternity by William Blake! Congratulations to the guest reviewer who guessed it before I found my copy of the bloody thing. You were right! And have a much better memory for names than I do!  
**


	27. Final Battle and Resolution

**A/N:** And here we are at the final actual chapter of my story. I'm still debating about adding an epilogue or not. I'm pretty sure everything will be resolved by the end of this chapter, so I probably won't need one. I should make up my mind by the time I finish writing the rest of this episode. This will also be the second story I have ever finished, so… YAY! Approximately 17 years of never finishing anything I started and finally, _finally_ I am finishing things! YAY AGAIN! Let's just jump right in one last time! Here we go, everyone! The final chapter begins now!

 **Disclaimer:** If you haven't gathered by now that I don't own Princess Tutu by now there is something terribly wrong with you. I'm pretty sure previous disclaimers have made that abundantly clear with all the examples I keep giving out. Silly people who still think I am trying to claim ownership. You make me laugh.

Chapter 27: Final Battle and Resolution

As Fakir continued to write, the picture in his mind grew ever clearer and he could make out more and more details of what his writing described. "I can see," he murmured as his pen continued to dance across the page, "So that's the Monster Raven." It was a terrifying sight; a massive raven-shaped mass of shadow with burning red eyes and a cruel beak that blocked out most of the sky. He could imagine how much of a terror it must have been when it first appeared over the Prince's kingdom. He was also somewhat awed by how regal Mytho looked now that he'd finally been restored to the Prince he'd once been. Yet, to his amazement, he could still see his friend in there as well. This was who the white-haired teen was meant to be and a soft smile twitched across his face at seeing his long-time friend as he was meant to be.

"Prince," the Raven's voice boomed resonantly, "What do you hope to accomplish at this point? Doesn't it matter to you what happens to the girl drowning in despair within me?" "I _will_ rescue the princess," the golden-eyed young man proclaimed firmly, "Without fail!" Fakir's eyes widened slightly; it was one think to know Mytho was the prince he'd idolized ever since he was a child, but it felt completely different to both hear and see him living up to that role… "You mean to tell me you truly intend to make a human girl, raised on _my_ blood, your princess," the Raven asked scornfully. "That's right," the Prince shouted defiantly. "Mytho, you…," the young writer murmured in amazement as he heard Ahiru's thoughts echo his surprise within his mind. Not for the first time, he was struck by how similar his two dearest friends were to each other. Rue, as Kraehe, had done so much to harm him yet in the end he saw passed all of it to who she really was…and forgave her for it; just as the duck-girl had forgiven the raven-haired ballerina for trying to kill her in the underground lake.

The Raven laughed mockingly before, to the young man's horror, he summoned the transformed townsfolk to appear before him. Obediently, they gathered in the streets blocking the Prince from reaching his foe. 'I _knew_ there was a reason it didn't just kill everyone the second it was released,' he swore internally, 'Damn it! There's no way Mytho is going to be willing to fight innocent people!' "How foolish," it sneered as they rose up in rank upon rank of regimented lines. An army of ravens arrayed against the regal young man… "Those ravens were once humans," it continued menacingly, "Well? How will you fight _them_ , Prince?" Fakir winced as Mytho reacted exactly the way he expected to the idea of harming the transformed townsfolk. It wasn't their fault they were being forced to fight him. Yet again he heard Ahiru's voice in his head as she echoed his thoughts, 'What will you do, Mytho?' "Bring the prince's heart to me, my ravens," the Monster Raven ordered.

Immediately, the transformed humans started dancing towards the white-haired young man as they chanted, over and over, "Give us your heart!" "What cruelty you have wrought, Monster Raven," the golden eyed teen growled coldly before closing his eyes. Then, gracefully he started to pirouette with his sword held high over his head. A swirl of cherry blossom petals burst out of the ground and swept out from the dancing teen in a wave that swamped the ravens surrounding him before raising him high into the air. Unfortunately, it also ended up engulfing Ahiru as well, and the young writer flinched in sympathy. She was managing to keep her head above the wave of petals, but only just. Hopefully, she could keep it up. The last thing Fakir wanted was for her to be smothered by the young man they had both sacrificed so much to save. Through his mind's eye, the dark-haired young man looked on anxiously as Mytho was carried high into the air by a platform of pale pink blossoms before brandishing his blade at the Raven's face.

Yet the Monster Raven was not concerned as it summoned its ordinary raven minions to dive down at the Prince. As they fell, they turned into the same razor sharp blades that had nearly killed Fakir in the underground lake. The knight-turned-writer tensed at the sight and could feel a thrill of fear from Ahiru as well. They both remembered the damage those blades could do. "Mytho," he called out anxiously even though he knew his friend couldn't hear him. Only the little duck could hear the fear in his voice for they were connected through the thread of her story. However, to their relief, Mytho was more than capable of caring for himself in his current state. He slashed through every blade that came at him and not a single one struck his flesh. It was the new thrill of fear from the little yellow duck that informed the young man recording the events that a new danger was approaching the white-haired teen. The transformed townsfolk had managed to escape the wave of petals that had engulfed them and were flying upwards to interpose themselves between their master and his foe once more.

The Raven laughed mockingly as his brainwashed minions surrounded the Prince once more and resumed their unnerving chant. Fakir could hear Ahiru's voice crying desperately out to Mytho inside his head as the ravens launched their assault on their friend. She started to struggle desperately to fly up to him in order to help which caught the young writer's attention. "Ahiru, what are you doing," he asked anxiously. As she finally freed herself from the cloud of petals and flew into the air, the little duck replied, 'Fakir, we have to help Mytho!' 'Ahiru,' he thought in admiration of her bravery and devotion. There was a _reason_ he was in love with her after all. Grimly, the young man set about spinning a new thread into her story to help her reach the beleaguered young man high in the air. "Ahiru earnestly flapped her wings," he narrated as he wrote, "Hurrying to the prince. Perhaps sensing her feelings, a gust of wind came to her aid." He felt the moment the thread caught and became real. He relaxed as he realized such a minor change was not enough to trigger an episode of even minor backlash.

'So I can make minor alterations to the order of things,' he noted internally, 'That could easily have taken place whether I wrote them into being or not without overstepping my limits. That's good to know.' Fakir continued to watch and write as Ahiru was carried by the wind he had called up to the platform Mytho was standing on. What tension had flowed out of him at the realization that he had escaped an attack of backlash returned as he realized his friend was being forced to hold his sword up in front of his heart in order to deflect the transformed townsfolk's attacks. "Mytho," he murmured uneasily, "Hang in there." The little duck soon landed and started to flail about as she tried to get the ravens to stop attacking. 'Stop it,' her voice cried out in his head. The young writer tensed even more as they actually stopped and turned their full attention on the little yellow bird in front of them. He gritted his teeth as they started tossing her about and her pained cries started to resound through his skull. Yet again, he focused his will as he tried to force the story to change.

"The ravens attacking Ahiru st…," the young man started to murmur before he felt a dull ache start in his torso. He tried to ignore it and keep writing. "St…," he choked out, "St…still wouldn't stop!" The story refused to change for him and the nub on the end of his quill snapped as he pressed down viciously in sheer frustration. The second it broke the connection between him and Ahiru was abruptly severed as the view of events playing in his mind blacked out. He started to panic and leapt to his feet. "Ahiru," he cried out fearfully, but before he could take more than a few steps Autor, who had been waiting nearby the entire time, spun around and grabbed hold of his shoulders. "Hey, wait," the glasses-wearing teen exclaimed. "Let go of me," Fakir demanded angrily, "I have to go!" "Go and do what," the other young man countered fiercely, "A useless knight wouldn't be able to protect anyone even if he _did_ go out there! Weren't you trying to avoid dying in vain?" The young writer cringed at that reminder. He'd been so worried about the little duck that he'd completely forgotten about the danger he still faced. "You decided that you were going to write a story, didn't you," the music student continued with a challenging glare, "Then write until the end! Concentrate!"

Autor had a point, unfortunately. "Damn it," Fakir swore bitterly as he tore off his cravat and turned back to his desk to fix his quill. He vaguely registered the other teen starting to exclaim something, but was swiftly falling back into the single-minded state in which he wrote. Once he fixed his pen, he picked up the thread of the story once more and gritted his teeth as the connection snapped back into place. The mental playback resumed to show that the platform his friends had been standing on had disappeared. Furthermore, the transformed ravens had abandoned all interest in Ahiru in favor of resuming their attack on Mytho. She had managed to land somewhat smoothly after falling from high in the air thanks to the fact that she had _wings_. The Prince was not so fortunate. He was slowly being overwhelmed by the transformed townsfolk. The little duck had apparently never noticed the interruption in their connection and instead ran forwards to try to get the former humans to stop attacking her friend.

'Hey, stop it,' her voice cried out desperately as she quacked as loud as she could. However, the ravens paid her no attention this time. The young writer could tell his friend was in dire straits. "Mytho," he murmured uneasily. Then the golden-eyed teen's thoughts suddenly started to echo through his head as well. 'At this rate,' the Prince's thoughts admitted, 'At this rate, I'll be powerless to keep my heart from being stolen. Does this mean that I should break apart my own heart once again and seal him away, after all? Is that my only choice?' "No," Fakir protested vehemently, "It's not like that, Mytho! Damn it, do I not have enough power to change the story after all?" Mytho showed no sign of having heard his knight's protests and Ahiru, try as she might, could not stop the ravens from attacking. They were completely helpless in the face of the story's momentum. It seemed that no matter what they did, no matter how hard they struggled, the tragedy would take place in spite of everything.

The young writer grit his teeth in frustration as he tried to think of something he could do to change things; even a minor change that would give Mytho a chance to save Rue as he wanted. 'Something,' he thought desperately, 'There has to be something we can do! Anything at all!' However, before he could come up with a solution, the Prince took action and positioned his sword before his heart. "I will pierce my heart once again," he declared firmly. "What," Fakir exclaimed in unison with Ahiru. "Nonsense," the Raven scoffed, "If you seal me away, the princess will also be…" "No matter how many centuries may pass," the white-haired young man proclaimed, "I shall rise again and defeat you! And then at that time, I will take my own life and go to my princess's side!" 'You can't,' the little duck's voice cried out in the dark-haired young man's head which was a sentiment he fully agreed with.

"You're going to lose your heart again, and just repeat the same pattern over again," he protested in horror. 'After you finally got your heart back,' the little yellow duck fretted, 'That…can't happen! It can't!' The young writer's pen started to dance across the page even more rapidly as her memories of everything they had all gone through spilled forth. Everything she had witnessed flashed across her mind and strengthened her resolve enough to act. 'It can't,' she screamed as she moved her wings in the mime of denial. The dark-haired young man gasped in surprise at the sheer intensity of emotion that flowed across their link. Ahiru ran forward quacking furiously as she screamed desperately in his mind, 'You can't do that! You can't! Mytho, please, stop it!'

Against all odds, her frantic quacking and miming reached the Prince and the story started to shift under Fakir's quill. 'Don't give up,' she screamed once more before turning her attention to the young man who was connected to her through the story. 'Fakir,' she pleaded, 'I want to help Mytho! One more time…' 'Ahiru,' he inquired curiously. If she had an idea he was willing to try it. It wasn't as though he could come up with anything at the moment, and time was of the essence. The Raven had also noticed the little duck, and was not impressed. "Even though you are no longer Princess Tutu," it mocked cruelly, "What do you think _you_ can do?"

Ahiru spread her wings before raising them over her head as she struck a ballet pose. 'Everybody,' her thoughts pleaded fiercely, 'Don't give up! Don't be defeated! Let's give this story a happy ending!' The sheer hope overflowing from those thoughts caused an awed gasp to escape the young writer. How could such a small creature hold so much hope without burning out from it all? It was incredible… 'I am a mere duck,' the little yellow bird proclaimed as she held her pose, 'I can't wear toe-shoes, but I feel that I can dance for the sake of Rue-chan, Mytho, and everyone else. Fakir, lend me your power!' To his amazement, the idea she'd had flowed across as well and his eyes widened at the simplicity and brilliance of it. Sure it was a desperate maneuver, but it could also work. It had before. 'Ahiru,' he marveled internally before he started to write her intent into reality.

One last time, she would dance with all her heart to reach the people corrupted by the raven's power. One last time, she would try her utmost to save everyone…without striking a single blow. If anyone could succeed at this desperate gamble…it was her. With the power of Fakir's story flowing through her, Ahiru mimed a request to dance before echoing the mime with her thoughts, 'Will you dance with me, everyone?' The ravens all stared at her curiously, but didn't attack and the little duck offered one final mimed thought aimed at Mytho, 'Prince, save the princess.' The Prince stared at her in awe and murmured the only name he knew her by, "Tutu…" 'Everyone,' she thought once more as she started to dance, 'Let's dance together! And…remember our true selves!' "What are you trying do to," the Raven inquired mockingly, "Now that you're a mere duck?"

"She's not only a duck," Fakir growled as his pen danced across the paper before him as he described the scene unfolding in his mind's eye, "She's so much more than that, but a creature such as you could _never_ understand that, you monster!" The little duck was dancing as gracefully as she could across the cobblestone street. Her webbed feet made the steps awkward, but Ahiru had never been the most graceful dancer even as a human. Only the pendant's power had allowed her the skill she had displayed in Tutu's form. Yet she had always danced with the most honest, breathtaking joy he had ever seen. It touched people in a way that could not be fully explained, and he didn't really want to. That was the magic of ballet after all. 'The real me is just a duck,' she admitted without bitterness as she danced, 'But I can still dance! So I should be able to communicate my feelings through dancing too! I won't decide I can't do anything without ever even trying! Because I make my own story! Let's all return to our own stories, and our true selves! Let's treasure our _own_ feelings, and not the ones someone's decided on for us.'

The young writer smiled softly as his pen recorded her words. "That's right," he murmured quietly, "That's the way it _should_ be! Keep dancing Ahiru! I think you're reaching them!" It sure seemed that way as the ravens slowly started to gather around her and stare with a calm fascination. He then started narrating his writing once again, "It is true that her dance was not as beautiful as Princess Tutu's. But it was overflowing with powerful emotion that shone a warm light on the hearts of the people who saw it!" However, he had underestimated the Raven's power. "A mere duck," it proclaimed cruelly, "If you want to dance that badly, you can dance all you like in the darkness of despair!" It then manifested a powerful dark wind much as Kraehe once had only to far different effect. Fakir's eyes widened in horror as his pen detailed how the transformed humans were pulled back into the Raven's despair as the wind touched them and lost sight of the light Ahiru's dancing had awakened within them. "No," he whispered desperately, "No!" "My ravens," the Monster Raven ordered coldly, "Dance with the little duck! Until she exhausts her strength and dies!" It then laughed malevolently as his brainwashed minions moved to obey.

Fakir felt a thrill of fear surge through the link as the little duck noticed the looming ravens. "Ahiru," he inquired uneasily before exclaiming, "Ahiru! Please get out of there! They'll kill you!" 'I can't give up on them,' Ahiru protested through their link, 'No matter what I have to try!' "You idiot," he whispered as his throat tightened, "I don't want you to die…" She didn't have any time to respond before the ravens started to attack and tossed her about once more. The young writer struggled desperately to make them stop, but nothing he tried worked. Every attempt was met with a new variant of backlash with the exception of the one that could kill him, which was about the only silver lining he could see. The story only seemed to change when he was acting in unison with the duck-girl and currently she was helpless as the transformed townsfolk gradually set about beating her to death.

"Damn it," he finally burst out in frustration, "I can't stop the ravens from attacking her! _Damn_ it all!" He continued writing anyways as he prayed that something would happen that would save her because he _couldn't_. "Ahiru," he whispered desperately. 'Fakir' he finally heard her respond weakly. Thank God, she was still alive! Slowly, his pen detailed her struggle to get back to her feet as the ravens circled around her limp form. 'I won't give up,' she insisted weakly. "Ahiru," Fakir whispered again as her determination and hope surged through the link once more. She truly was far more than a mere duck… 'Fakir,' she whispered weakly into his head as she resumed her original pose, 'I can still go on. I can still dance.' "I understand," he replied, and he truly did. As much as her selfless streak was a trait that made him fear for her safety, it was one they shared. Both of them…were willing to sacrifice everything they had – everything they were – for the sake of those they loved.

However, before he could write more to aid her Autor suddenly tackled him as hard as he could with a cry of, "Look out!" Fakir's breath exploded out of him from the impact and was left even more winded by his hard landing on the wooden floor. He gasped desperately to catch his breath and groaned weakly as his body started to register the strain using his power had been placing on it. Yet he didn't remain prone for long. He couldn't. "Write, Fakir," the glasses-wearing screamed at him as he lunged across the room. 'I will,' the young writer vowed as she shakily forced himself back to his feet, 'I won't let her fight alone! Even if all I can do is support her with my writing I refuse to let her down!' "Ahiru," he gasped weakly as he finally managed to stand and started to stagger back over to the desk he'd been using.

"Damn it," he swore as he noticed the massive hole gouged out in the desk that had also sliced his papers in half. Someone had clearly tried to kill him…again. He'd have to remember to thank Autor for saving him later on. It seemed he could trust the other teen to watch his back after all. Who knew? Fakir sat heavily and grabbed a new sheet of paper as he prepared to resume writing. Yet before he slipped back under he heard Autor speak once more. "Write," he pleaded weakly, "For the sake of those who are waiting for your story!" The dark-haired young man gasped slightly at that. Even the music student who had always belittled his ability seemed to believe in him now?! When had _that_ happened?! His eyes narrowed sharply as he focused on his powers once more. It seemed he had more people who believed in his power than he thought and he _would not let any of them down!_ The young writer resumed his task and felt the link snap back into place for a third time.

"Ahiru," he called out thickly as he registered how much more damaged she had suffered during their brief disconnection. 'It's Fakir's voice,' her thoughts sounded hazy as they flowed into his head, 'Fakir, I can still…' Fakir could actually feel the pain and weakness she was feeling radiating through there link yet she still would not give up hope. "Ahiru stood up," he resumed narrating through the building tears in his eyes, "Giving no heed to her injuries, she never considered stopping her dance. Because it was the only thing she could do as she was now…" Ahiru responded to the strength his words fed into her battered, broken little body and resumed her dance just as strongly as before. The young writer's breath caught in his throat as he held back a sob. It killed him that he could do nothing else for her besides write, but he persevered. Even as the tears spilled across his cheeks in grieving for the suffering he could not prevent he did not stop recording her story as it took shape under his quill. 'Don't give in to the raven's blood,' the injured duck pleaded as she continued to dance, 'Don't be held captive by despair! Let's give this story a happy ending! Don't give up. Don't be afraid.'

The bandages around his injured hand were stained with his blood as his vigorous writing tore the wound under them wide open yet he ignored it. The little duck was suffering far worse, so what did _his_ pain matter! "Her tiny body," Fakir choked out thickly as the event he was describing played out before his eyes, "Was so wounded that she couldn't even stay on her feet. But in order to lead the prince and everyone else to a happy ending, regardless of her pain, she continued dancing without losing hope! The power flowed out from deep within Ahiru's body boundlessly. One by one, that power warmed the people's hearts, which had been frozen by the raven's blood. That power…is _hope_!" A wave of light washed over the transformed townsfolk as he wrote and, as his eyes widened in awe, a phantom of Ahiru in Tutu's form with the wings of a duck manifested over her tiny body.

The story suddenly jumped tracks and shifted from focusing on the little duck to Mytho who had apparently been inspired as well. "By my name, Prince Siegfried," the white-haired young man cried out, "I call the name of my princess! Rue!" "Siegfried," Fakir murmured as his quill started to spin the Prince's story, "So that's your real name." He wiped the lingering tears from his eyes as he continued to write about what his friend was experiencing. He recorded his reunion with Rue, he recorded her joining him as the golden-eyed teen summoned the cherry blossom whirlwind once more to carry them to the Raven's heart, he recorded the strange howling phantoms they passed, and he recorded their approach to the glowing mass that sustained the Monster. "Mytho…no, Siegfried," the young writer exclaimed quietly, "Go!"

As they finally drew near to the end goal a look of grim determination crossed his face. This was it! "The story _will_ end," he declared forcefully. The dark-haired teen sighed in relief as he recorded the Monster Raven's demise in a burst of light. It really was _over_! They had done it! They had changed the story's ending! He heard Ahiru's voice echo through his head once more, 'Mytho! Rue-chan! Thank…goodne...ss.' Her voice suddenly trailed off and Fakir's relief gave way to a sudden burst of fear. "Ahiru," he cried out before surging to his feet and racing out of the apartment. If she died now after everything they had accomplished he did _not_ think he would last much longer. He literally could not imagine living without her in his life anymore.

Fakir raced across town passing countless confused townsfolk, but he paid them no heed. 'Please let her still be alive,' he prayed, 'For the love of God, _please_ don't be dead Ahiru!' He soon reached where her limp, battered body lay still on the ground and, as he picked her up, he really did fear that she had fallen for good. However, she stirred and opened her eyes before seeming to smile up at him and he slowly smiled back. "You did it," he breathed. The look she gave him turned mildly confused before a weakly protesting quack emerged from her. He suspected she was insisting he'd helped as well and he shook his head slowly. "I barely did anything beyond lend you strength when you needed it," he told her, "Your _hope_ is what saved us, not my writing. If it weren't for you…" He trailed off as he cradled her to his chest and whispered, "Thank you…for everything…" Ahiru sounded slightly confused as she quacked back and nuzzled his chin with her beak. Fakir knew her well enough to know she was replying with a puzzled, "You're welcome."

The two of them both glanced up as they heard a voice call out the young writer's name in relief. Prince Siegfried and Rue were both running over and the prince was beaming broadly. "You're alive," the white haired young man laughed as he practically tackled his friend, "Oh, thank goodness I was so _worried!_ " "Why," Fakir blinked in surprise as he tried to prevent his surprisingly enthusiastic friend from crushing Ahiru. "I remember everything now," Siegfried admitted as he pulled back a bit with an awkward laugh, "I…uh…kind of panicked a bit on the inside when I didn't see you with Tutu. I was afraid you had…um…died. Where were you?" "It turns out I have the same power as Drosselmeyer," the knight-turned-writer explained, "The power to write stories that can shape or be shaped by reality. Since I wasn't having much success returning you to normal as a traditional knight, I thought I'd try writing instead. I was off on the sidelines for the entire battle doing what I could to change the story's ending using my power. I'm still not strong enough to change more than minor details, but providing strength when Ahi…Tutu was about to falter? _That_ I could manage."

Siegfried blinked in surprise at his knight, "So you wield a pen now alongside your sword?" "Actually, I exchanged one for the other," Fakir admitted as Ahiru shifted slightly to look up at them all from here she lay in his arms, "Fighting the story as a writer and not as a knight made sense after I remembered it was even an option for me. Going after the root of the problem – Drosselmeyer's story – was just as effective a means of keeping my promises. Most of all, since I wasn't fighting as a traditional knight, the fate of the knight from the story couldn't touch me. Not that it stopped Drosselmeyer from trying to get rid of me in other ways…" " _Drosselmeyer_ tried to kill you," Rue suddenly exclaimed in shock. "Actually, I think his intent was to drive me to commit suicide. He took control of my hand and tried to make me write Ahiru's death," the young writer shrugged indifferently drawing a strangled quack from the duck cradled in his arms. She hadn't known about that and started quacking furiously in concern. Fakir stroked her head briefly to reassure her that he was fine now and that she didn't need to worry. While this was enough to calm _her_ it did nothing to reassure the other two who didn't know her secret. "She's still alive right," the raven-haired ballerina demanded. The dark-haired young man sighed, "She had a close call, but yes she's alive. I managed to break his control before it was too late."

"I'm afraid you've lost me," the prince blinked in confusion, "How was Ahiru even involved in the first place?" "Ahiru was Princess Tutu's alter-ego," the former knight explained patiently, "Up until she returned the final heart shard and she reverted to her true form." The white-haired young man gaped at his friend before staring at the injured duck in surprise before murmuring, "But…that would mean…" "That Ahiru was never really human in the first place," Fakir finished evenly as he lightly rested his hand on her feathered back, "She was always a duck." Rue's eyes widened in shock as she also turned her attention to the little yellow duck in his arms, "But…how…?" "The pendant she wore was the only thing allowing her to remain human, what allowed her to become Tutu, and was also the last heart shard," the young writer replied with a sad smile, "Now that she's given it up she can never become human again."

He sighed quietly before he continued, "It was her choice in the end. It was always her choice. She chose to become Tutu and a human in order to help you get your heart back. She chose to befriend the three of us. She chose to defy the role the story intended for her. And she chose give up the human life she had come to love so that we could defeat the Raven and give everyone else a happy ending." Fakir intended to make damn sure they both understood just how much she had given up for their sakes, and he chose his words well. Siegfried stared down at the little duck weakly looking up at all of them in amazement before bowing his head respectfully. "I know I already thanked you once, but I feel it bears repeating," he stated formally, "Thank you so much, Tutu." "Ahiru," the former knight and Rue both muttered under their breaths, "Not Tutu…"

Ahiru quacked weakly as she squirmed a bit prompting Fakir to snap at her, "Hold still, you idiot! You're injured remember? At least let me treat your wounds first!" Rue and Siegfried stared in bemusement as she quacked back angrily and he countered, "Then stop acting like one!" "How do you even know what she's saying," the prince inquired with a confused frown. "Ahiru is Ahiru," the knight-turned-writer shrugged as he started to bandage the grumbling duck now resting in his lap, "Regardless of what she looks like that will never change, and I know her well enough by now to work out what she means." The raven-haired ballerina shook her head with an amused smirk, "To think that it's _you_ of all people saying that…" "Oh shut up," the former knight grumbled. His nimble fingers made quick work of tying off the last of the bandages and he relaxed slightly, though he still didn't let her move off of his lap. The little duck quacked up at him indignantly as she tried to indicate that she could walk on her own. "Ahiru," Fakir countered dryly, "Do you remember when you refused to let me walk back to the dorms on my own after the prince was kidnapped? Right now, you're injured even worse than I was. If you think for even a _second_ that I'm letting you out of my sight you've got another thing coming."

Further conversation was cut off by Uzura suddenly running up to them with a cry. "Fakir," she yelled eagerly, "I know how to find the story-zura!" "What," the three humans yelped echoed by a startled quack from the duck. "I know how to find the story-zura," the little puppet repeated with a broad grin, "Follow me-zura!" Fakir started to stand in order to do exactly that when he was pulled back to the ground by a suddenly horrified Siegfried. "Fakir," he demanded," What happened to your hand?!" The young writer looked down at the unraveling bloodstained bandages around his right hand and winced slightly. "Remember how I mentioned Drosselmeyer tried to use me to kill Ahiru," he murmured quietly. "Yes," the prince nodded uneasily. "I _may_ have stabbed through my own hand with a paper knife in order to break his control," the dark-haired teen admitted, "And then spent the past hour or so writing _very fast_ with that same hand."

Yet another startled quack echoed the white-haired teen's thoroughly disturbed, "What?!" "Doesn't that hurt," Rue asked with a concerned frown. "Quite a bit actually," the green-eyed teen shrugged, "But it's also easy enough to ignore when there are more important things to be worried about." "Fakir," the golden-eyed young man sighed in exasperation, "We both know your priorities are _beyond_ messed up. Before we do anything else, we are taking care of your hand." "It's not that bad," Fakir protested. "Give me the rest of the bandages, Fakir," Siegfried insisted calmly as he held out his hand, "And sit down. That's an order." The dark-haired teen sighed heavily but obeyed; even though he was primarily a writer now part of him would _always_ be a knight.

Once his hand had been cleaned and re-bandaged to the Prince's satisfaction, the group set out to follow the little puppet to where the story was supposed to be hidden. Fakir suspected it was the mechanism the old shopkeeper had mentioned the night before last. He was tempted to shake his head in awe of how fast things had moved since he'd awakened his powers as a Spinner. So much had happened in so little time. Uzura ended up leading them to an old clock tower rising high into the sky near the center of town. Each of them had passed by it countless times in the past. "Why am I not surprised that Drosselmeyer hid the mechanism he used to control the town in the most notable land mark in town," the former knight grumbled under his breath. The child-like puppet led them into the tower and up the winding stairs. "I know where the story is-zura," she exclaimed eagerly as she scampered up the stairs, "It's this way-zura!" An amused smile flickered across the young writer's face at her boundless enthusiasm. He was relieved she had returned to normal after everything. He'd been worried…

Soon, they arrived at a small office near the top of the tower manned by a lone puppet that vaguely resembled Edel, though it lacked her spark. "I'm back-zura," the little girl chirped happily to the larger puppet. "Welcome back," the puppet replied emotionlessly before focusing on Siegfried, "Prince, the entrance to the story is this way." It gestured to a staircase lowering from the ceiling. "Uh, thank you," the white-haired teen blinked uncertainly. Uzura scampered over to the stairs and scampered up them eagerly. "Hurry up-zura," she called back. Fakir shared an amused glance with Ahiru before following; her childish impatience never changed.

The staircase led to a barren room at the top of the tower containing only a single, strange looking device as its sole furnishing. A soft gasp escaped the young writer as he stared at the machine. It was mostly a bizarre looking assembly of gears and rods that held a pen suspended over a conveyer belt that moved sheets of paper along its track. He could see how Drosselmeyer would use something like this. The gears moved the pen across the paper to write the story and the belt moved each completed page along so there was always a fresh piece of paper beneath the pen. Uzura's words confirmed that his suspicions were correct. "This is it-zura," she announced as she held onto the edge of the machine.

"I see," Fakir murmured thoughtfully, "This thing was recording everything that happened in Goldkrone Town as a story." His expression hardened as he walked closer and continued grimly, "The mechanism that calls forth tragedy for Drosselmeyer's enjoyment, huh?" He paused in front of it as he took one last moment to admire the ingenuity of the device in spite of the terrible uses to which it had been put…before reaching out, grasping the main arm with his free hand, and ripping it free of its moorings. "Fakir," Siegfried asked uncertainly, "What are you…?" The young writer looked on impassively as several gears fell to the ground before casting the arm aside and turning to face the other two teens.

"I'll write the rest of it," the former knight informed his friend, "Prince, you should live freely in whatever way you wish." A soft smile spread across the white-haired young man's face, "I will." The former knight returned the smile as the prince turned to face the girl standing at his side. "Rue," Prince Siegfried stated softly. "Yes," Rue replied as she turned to meet his gaze. "I want you to come with me," the golden-eyed teen informed her solemnly, "As my princess." The raven-haired ballerina's uncertainty and guilt were clearly visible as she responded, "But I have the Monster Raven's blood inside me…"

Siegfried started slightly before musing thoughtfully, "The Monster Raven's blood? It probably remains inside of me as well." Fakir was slightly concerned by that admission and spoke up, "My prince…" The prince turned to face his most trusted knight as he tried to explain how he felt. "Even though I should love all people… Despite that, right now…," the white-haired young man admitted before turning back to face Rue once again, "Right now, I want to love Rue the most of all." A soft grin crossed the former knight's face as the burgundy-eyed girl's eyes started to fill with happy tears before she suddenly started sobbing. He supposed she deserved this happiness after everything she had endured. Besides, she _did_ love the prince without needing to be twisted into it to fill the story's needs.

Prince Siegfried, on the other hand, was confused by her sudden tears as he exclaimed in concern, "Rue!" "Idiot," the young writer murmured quietly, "It's fine that way." He looked on as his prince walked over to the sobbing girl and embraced her comfortingly. It took her a few minutes to calm down again, but once she did her attention focused firmly on the former knight and the duck cradled in his arms. "I owe you an apology, Fakir," she admitted bashfully, "For all the trouble I've caused you over the years…and for trying to kill you." "Under the circumstances I think I can forgive you for that," he replied drily, "So long as you never try to repeat the attempt on my life. I've endured enough of those in the past few months to last me a lifetime." Rue smiled weakly before turning her attention to Ahiru. Fakir could guess what she wanted and handed the little duck over to her. The raven-haired ballerina handled the little duck gently as she raised her up to gaze into those warm blue eyes.

"You're Ahiru," she asked quietly which prompted an annoyed scowl from the young writer. He'd already _told them_ she was… The little duck quacked and nodded in response to the question. Rue's eyes started tearing up again as she admitted thickly, "I'm so glad that I got to meet you! Thank you…" A confused quack emerged from the injured duck before the raven-haired girl brought her up to her neck and hugged her lightly, "I love you, Ahiru!" Considering that Ahiru didn't hesitate to hug the girl back, Fakir could only assume she felt the same. The burgundy-eyed girl continued cuddling the little bird for a few more moments before returning her to the dark-haired young man. "You'd better take good care of her," she scowled fiercely, "Or else!" "I'd _die_ before I let any harm come to her ever again," he retorted truthfully

. Rue seemed satisfied by that statement, though the little yellow duck was not so thrilled from the annoyed quack she let out. Her goodbyes taken care of, the raven-haired ballerina returned to her prince and gazed tenderly into his eyes. He smiled back before leaning in to kiss her passionately. The second their lips met, her uniform changed into a cream colored gown. The story's lingering power had accepted her as his princess now and forever. The moment was somewhat ruined by Uzura's fascinated exclamation, "So this is love-love-zura!" The young writer allowed a short laugh to escape him at her little outburst. He wasn't even bothered by her random obsession with love anymore. Now that the story was effectively over he was far more relaxed than he had been in _years._

The Prince led Rue over to the balcony running along the outside of the building where a flying carriage pulled by an oversized swan was waiting for them. Fakir raised an eyebrow at its sudden appearance, but chalked it up to more story-related weirdness. He was more or less numb to such things by now. Siegfried helped the raven-haired girl enter the carriage first before joining her. He then turned to smile back at his long-time friend and the duck cradled in his arm, "Thank you, Tutu, Fakir!" The carriage started to pull away after that, but the white-haired young man wasn't quite finished. "I'll write soon," he shouted over the side as he twisted around to look back at his friends. "I'll look forward to it," the former knight called back, "Take care of yourself!" "You too," the golden-eyed teen laughed before the carriage flew out of range.

The young man remained on the tower watching until the flying carriage disappeared in a flash of light before turning to the duck cradled in his arm. "Let's go home," Fakir smiled down at her gently, "Ahiru." She seemed to smile as she quacked back. Uzura remained in the tower as they left which made the dark-haired teen pause and look back at her in confusion. "Is something wrong, Uzura," he asked curiously. The little puppet looked a bit sad for a few moments before she finally replied, "The puppet me inside of me says I need to leave now that the story is over, but I don't want to go-zura! I'll miss Fakir and Charon and Ahiru-zura!"

A melancholy expression spread across Fakir's face as she spoke. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to hear that. The little girl was a living puppet and such things simply could not exist outside of a story. "But if you stay," he told her gently, "You wouldn't be you for very long. You'd stop moving and just be a lifeless hunk of wood. I'd much rather you left and continued to live on than stay and cease to exist." "I'll miss you, big brother-zura," Uzura whimpered sadly. "I'll miss you too, Uzura," he replied with a sad smile, "But it's possible that we'll meet again someday." "Promise," the green-haired puppet looked up at him plaintively. "I promise," he assured her. Uzura vanished with one last tearful smile prompting a sad quack from Ahiru. "I know," the young writer replied sadly, "Everyone seems to be leaving us behind. Still…I know _I'm_ not going anywhere. I did make you a promise, after all, and I intend to keep it no matter what." The next quack was far more cheerful and a tired smile flickered across the young man's face as he resumed his progress down the tower.

He returned home to find a puzzled Charon waiting for him outside. "Something strange happened last night," the smith informed his son bluntly, "Only I can't quite remember what happened. Did something happen with the story?" "You might say that," Fakir sighed tiredly, "Short version is that the Raven was released last night and turned everyone in town aside from myself, Ahiru, Rue, Autor, and the Prince into ravens. Ahiru can't turn into a human anymore after giving up her pendant to complete the prince's heart since it was the last remaining heart shard. Ahiru is hurt because the ravens attacked her on the Monster Raven's orders. The Prince and Rue defeated the Raven after a long battle before leaving together for the Prince's world to live out the rest of their lives however they wish. I'm going to be hard at work for a while tying up the remaining threads of the story and writing a final conclusion, but everything is basically over. Oh, and Ahiru is going to be living with us for as long as she wants to." "And the long version," Charon asked incredulously. "Charon," the exhausted young writer gave his father a look, "I've been awake now for over two days straight. I need to sleep. Desperately. I'll explain more later."

The smith didn't press his son further and the young man promptly headed up to his room and made up a make shift nest for Ahiru to sleep in before passing out on his bed. The two of them slept for the rest of the day and didn't wake up until the following morning. Fakir related the full account of what had happened to his father at that time with the little duck pitching in with her mimes. Charon was horrified to learn that he had most likely been one of those transformed by the Raven's curse and so was partially responsible for the injured duck's state. He was somewhat reassured by her mime that she didn't blame him or anyone else and the dark-haired teen backed her up. "You had no control over any of it," he pointed out, "So you bear no blame."

With that matter resolved there was still the issue of how to care for the injured waterfowl. Goldkrone _did_ have an animal care specialist, but the practice was mostly focused on large livestock like horses and cattle. They didn't handle birds. The young writer's solution, naturally, was to start researching everything he could on ducks and how to care for them. The public library turned out to be a god-send in that regard, and he soon learned everything he needed to nurse the little duck back to full health. It took a good week for the little duck to recover from her injuries and in that time several things changed. Fakir shifted his enrollment from the ballet school to the writing school at the Academy. The Dean of Ballet was not sad to see him go whereas the Dean of Writing had been absolutely beside himself with glee after reading a short story he'd submitted as an example of his talent.

The young writer had been extremely careful to avoid tapping into his power as he wrote, so it was quite harmless. Naturally, the story had a happy ending. Quite frankly, Fakir would be happy to never see another tragedy again for as long as he lived. He was _sick_ of tragedies. Whether he used his power or not, every story he wrote would have a happy ending one way or the other! Ahiru turned out to be just as awkward as a duck as she had been as a human. Her instincts barely seemed to exist beyond knowing how to fly and how to swim. It made them both wonder if her time as a human had caused her natural instincts to erode, but there wasn't much they could do about it. The entire time she was healing, Fakir didn't get much work done on finishing 'The Prince and the Raven.' He felt caring for Ahiru was more important than resolving the story. He'd finish it eventually, but for now he was more focused on her. He _was_ still in love with her after all.

Once she was healed, though, their routine changed slightly. For one thing, Ahiru followed the young writer everywhere. She'd tag along to campus and hang around in the fountain while he was in class. She'd perch on the side of his desk whenever he wrote and sometimes he'd even read to her aloud. He loved the way her eyes lit up when he read her his stories, so he made sure to do so often. She'd perch on his shoulder or ride in his arms when he went on walks around town to relax and check up on how people were adjusting. And she tagged along when he headed for his favorite writing spot. Fakir's favorite place to write turned out to be the lake he'd rescued her from. After the story's power faded a bit more, the lake turned out to be a pleasant place to spend time. It was peaceful there; more so than anywhere else in town.

The young writer would bring along a fishing pole when he wrote and set it up on the edge of the dock while Ahiru splashed around in the water. Occasionally he'd work on the manuscript of 'The Prince and the Raven'. Finishing it turned out to involve a ridiculous amount of revision simply because his own writing style did not mesh well with Drosselmeyer's. The transition from tragedy to happy ending was so jarring that the writer's aesthetic he'd been developing just couldn't tolerate it; hence the revision. Fakir was basically replacing the tragic themes of the original version with one that was over all hopeful. The tragedy was still there for he couldn't get rid of it entirely, but he _could_ diminish it somewhat.

Soon enough it was mid-summer and a new routine had been fully established for the former knight and the duck with the end of the school year. Fakir would check the dove-cote Charon had built out back each morning to see if a new letter had arrived. If one had he would take it back up to his room and read it to a drowsy Ahiru. If not he would head back inside to make breakfast. He was always the first one up these days and his skill at cooking was improving rapidly from all the practice. He'd then head back upstairs to fetch the drowsy duck and bring her down to eat with him and his father. After breakfast, she would wait on the table while he headed back upstairs to grab his writing supplies before returning to her side. Then he would pack a small lunch for the both of them, grab his fishing pole, and set out for the lake. Once there, he'd spend part of the day writing either a new story or poem. He wasn't the best poet, by any means, but he was actually far more comfortable with writing them than he was stories. His power didn't work on poems. The rest he would spend working on completing 'The Prince and the Raven'. Then they'd head back in around sunset to eat dinner before turning in for the night.

The young writer missed his golden-eyed friend dearly, but the letters helped. He'd read them aloud to Ahiru who was always eager to hear how her two friends were doing. The young royal couple sent regular messages by dove once a month which was why Charon and his son had needed to build a place for the messenger birds to live. Rue addressed her letters primarily to Ahiru with the stipulation that Fakir read them to her while Siegfried addressed his to both of them. He'd talk about the restoration work they were doing on his kingdom from the damage his original battle with the Raven had caused. He told them about how his subjects were a bit uncertain about Rue at first, but were starting to warm up to her. Rue's letters were quite similar. She'd tell Ahiru about the people the Prince introduced her to, about what life as a fairy-tale princess – she seemed to find it pleasant enough, but a bit dull at times – was like, and about the ideas she'd come up with to improve life for her new people…which the Prince apparently adored brainstorming with her on. It seemed he had grown so used to life in Goldkrone that he simply could not be content with how things had always been. The tone of the letter in which she addressed how exasperated he'd gotten while trying to convince his ministers to provide funding so he could open a Fine Arts Academy of their own had been quite amused.

Fakir would write back about how the people of Goldkrone were adjusting to their new lives a the story's influence continued to fade. He told them how people vaguely remembered that the Prince and his chosen princess had attended the Academy as the top ballet students and that they believed the couple had left to travel the travel the world as professional ballet dancers. He told them how they had completely forgotten about the little duck who had been a girl. He hadn't been happy about that, but accepted it was probably for the best. He told them about his slow progress on completing Drosselmeyer's story and why it was taking him so long. The Prince had teased him a bit about being a perfectionist in one of his letters which had caused the former knight to scowl down at the parchment in annoyance. Ahiru had found it hilarious. Ducks might not be able to laugh physically, but her eyes had been _so_ bright and she had been trembling _so much_ that it was pretty clear to the young man that she was laughing on the inside.

The day he finally wrote the last words of story started out normally up until Fakir started working on Drosselmeyer's revised manuscript. He had finally fixed all of the tone problems remaining between the two portions of the document, and all that remained was to write the actual ending. The young writer looked up at where Ahiru was happily skittering across the water as she chased after a dragonfly and smiled softly. She may not be human anymore, but she was still managing to find happiness in her life and that was enough for him. He then lowered his quill to the paper resting on his lap…and wrote the final words as he murmured them softly to himself, "Life slowly returned to normal in the little town where fantasy bled into reality. The strangeness that had taken over their peaceful home seemed to be nothing more than a dream if they remembered it at all."

Fakir paused and glanced up as Ahiru let out a sudden happy quack. The dragonfly she had been chasing had perched on the odd feather sticking out of the top of her head much to her elation. The young writer laughed slightly as she started swimming over to show him her passenger before he resumed writing, "Everyone returned to the way they had always been meant to be. For the first time in ages, they were free to be their real selves. The people were no longer chained to the roles that had bound them for so long. The story that had ruled their lives was over, yet their own individual stories… They would each continue to write their own in the pages of their hearts. Their futures, and fates, were their own to be shaped forevermore. The end." The second he lifted his pen from writing the final word he felt the ending catch and braced himself against any potential backlash. There was still a chance that he could have over-reached himself with how he worded things even though all he meant to accomplish was to cut everyone free from what remained of the story's power. To his relief, reality seemed to accept his changes and started to relax…before a startled quack and sudden splash from next to the dock made him jump.

"Ahiru," he yelped as he set his writing board to the side and hurried to the edge of the dock to check on her. That's when things got odd; the young writer's eyes widened in shock and mounting embarrassment at the sight of a very _human_ and _naked_ Ahiru clinging to the dock's supports in wide-eyed surprise as she looked back up at him. "Wh-wh-wh-what," she stammered in confusion as she looked between her hands and the blushing young man who had promptly turned away the second he realized what had happened, "How am I human again?! Did you write something?!" "Nothing that should have turned you human," Fakir shot back without looking as he fought to get his embarrassment back under control. Unfortunately, his attempts were somewhat sabotaged by a splashing sound as the red-head started to pull herself up onto the dock. Not for the first time he cursed his vivid imagination as it cheerfully started doing its best to fill in the gaps of what a wet, naked Ahiru looked like as his blush deepened. He determinedly shut his eyes as she pattered across the dock passed him to read what he'd written for herself. He wasn't going to give his imagination _any_ ammunition if he could help it.

"Fakir," she finally called back after a few moments of silence, "I think I know what happened." "Then tell me," he replied tersely as he started pulling off his shirt so she could cover herself. He'd like to be able to open his eyes at some point and it wasn't as though he had anything else available. "This bit where you wrote about how we all turn back to how we're meant to be," Ahiru replied, "and everything. What if I wasn't _meant_ to be a duck anymore? I may have started life as a duck, but…" "I suppose that makes sense," the young writer replied thoughtfully as he tossed his shirt over in her general direction, "Do you want me to change it?" "No," the blue-eyed girl exclaimed forcefully before making an inquisitive noise followed by a startled quack. Fakir suspected she had just realized that she wasn't wearing any clothes after she noticed his shirt. The frantic rustling of fabric following her outburst confirmed that. "You can look now," she murmured sheepishly. The dark-haired young man opened his eyes and walked over to kneel next to where she was huddled on the ground, blushing furiously, as she clutched the manuscript in her hands.

"I missed being human," Ahiru admitted quietly as he knelt down next to her before starting to ramble nervously, "And I'm _really_ bad at being a duck. I know we both said we'd go back to being our real selves, but I really, _really_ want to stay human and go back to the Academy again and dance with everyone and make friends with Pique and Lilie again and I know that's not what I said I'd do, but I _really_ want this. Please don't make me go back to being a duck again!" "Moron," the dark-haired young man smiled gently as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, "Stop worrying about such pointless things. If this is the ending you want then I'm happy I was able to give it to you even accidentally. You deserve a happy ending more than anyone." The red-head's eyes started to fill with happy tears before she impulsively lunged forward to hug her older friend. Fakir's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't push her away. He slowly returned her hug and closed his eyes in utter contentment. He knew she still didn't love him back, but he was fine with that. Perhaps one day in the future the former duck would notice his odd behavior around her and wonder about it. Perhaps she would remain oblivious. Who could really say? He knew he would continue to love her for the rest of his days regardless. That was just the kind of person he was.

The End

 **A/N:** And so this story…is over. I realize the ending is very different from the one in the anime, but I just couldn't do it! I couldn't leave Ahiru a duck forever and have Fakir trapped in a hopeless love after everything else he went through! His feelings are still unrequited, but at least he has a _chance_ now! Basically, this is how I wish the series had ended. I could have lived with this. My heart doesn't hurt as much anymore. I may as well give you a hint as to my actual head-canon for Ahiru's past. Long story short: she was a human child raised in an orphanage in a different town (who named all infants dropped off at the orphanage after animals in different languages so there were children named Cygnet, Gato, Chien, and of course Ahiru herself…by the way she never knew her birth parents, so she never missed them prior to being sucked into the story) who was abducted by Drosselmeyer and turned into a duck with her memories of being a human erased. Why did he not just leave her human? That wouldn't have been as much fun. Yeah, I actually forced myself to think like Drosselmeyer when I was coming up with that backstory. Also, this is now officially the longest fic I have ever written. 320 pages and +211,200 words! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Till we meet again, my dear readers! Fare thee well! **Present day edit: And that's the last chapter done. Just to give everyone who liked this story, but doesn't get author alerts, a heads up I will be starting to post a new Princess Tutu fic sometime after next Monday. Possibly the following Sunday, Monday, or maybe even Friday. I haven't settled on a fixed update date yet. Just know that it will be coming out soon. So if you feel like checking it out…look for a fic in the Princess Tutu section titled 'The Duck and The Beast'. Till then!**


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